


No Right to Be Unhappy

by SippingPlotting



Series: Sequels [1]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: My First Fanfic, Play the hand we're dealt, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-10-27 14:03:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 66
Words: 86,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10810506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SippingPlotting/pseuds/SippingPlotting
Summary: I'm just playing with what might happen next...because I miss watching each week.Apologies for errors in style and what not.What I'd like to do is get them to where I think the film will start--the end of 1929--in a position not too off the mark from where they should be.





	1. Chapter 1

Daisy hurried out the door of the kitchen and into the corridor, a "yes, Mrs. Patmore" flung over her shoulder.  
  
The girl grinned joyously at the thought of last night's celebration, then raised her hand to cover her mouth. The smile escaped the attempt. "Thomas is coming back," Daisy thought with no small glee.   
Well, Mr. Barrow to them all.  
Daisy almost laughed aloud, she was so happy at something finally going right for the man. Last night, overcome, she had actually hugged him where he stood--alone in the Butler's office a few moments before the midnight toast.  
  
Remembering, Daisy blushed, but then decided that it was quite alright. If anyone needed hugging, it was Thomas Barrow. And he hadn't seemed to mind for once, not making one of his defensive jests or treating her like some lovelorn looney. He'd just said, "Let's join the others for the toast, shall we?" And, so, they did.  
  
A skipping step later, Daisy got to the pantry and began to fill her arms. The morning smells of breakfast had followed her down the hall and her stomach grumbled a bit, but the young cook payed it no mind. Her mind wandered as she completed her simple task.  
  
"I could just dance a jig." She gave a short laugh, thinking back to her first attempt at the Grizzly Bear and her more recent foxtrot with a different young footman.  
Yes, she was happy--happy for her friend and happy for herself now that romance was finally on the horizon. "Friend, Thomas, and romance, Andy," Daisy delineated automatically.  
  
Her already pink cheeks flushed even more. The staff had always teased her at her poor luck with men. Heavens, she had first given her heart to Thomas of all people. The smile burst out across her face again, and she again smothered it behind her fingertips as she returned along the hall.  
If only Mrs. Patmore hadn't beaten around the bush with all of her euphanisms. If she'd only used the term "homosexual." It might have taken a run at the dictionary, but it would have saved Daisy much time and teasing.  
But he'd gone from crush to fallen hero to friend.  
  
And now, at last, Daisy was on the right course and she had Andy. This was going to be the best year ever, Daisy was really quite sure. "I can barely credit that it's the truth. It'll be oh, so splendid."  
Rushing, she went in to deliver the items and finish the toast.  
\---  
Thomas Barrow, meantime, was in a dark mood.  
  
He had been thrilled, of course, when Lord Grantham made the offer and Mr. Carson had accepted its terms and conditions. Thrilled beyond what was quite proper, Thomas had to admit.  
The emotion had carried him through the event and the downstairs toast after, carried him giddily back to his job and up the stairs to bed. He'd almost not gotten to sleep at all, even considered writing immediately to tell his friend Jimmy, but reconsidered and saved that for a later time when he actually made it to Downton and he could believe the dream a reality.  
  
But sometime at mid-morning, having turned in his notice with breakfast and started to plan his escape, Thomas got to thinking. And overthinking was always a problem with Thomas Barrow.  
"I am so fucked," he muttered to himself.  
  
Thomas began to realize all the ways that his return to Downton could fail. He was going back to a house that knew his flaws, after all. And he had many, many flaws by the standards of Downton. True, recently they'd more or less overlooked them, but they had never really accepted them. Or him.  
  
His joy at finally reaching his life's ambition deflated, and Thomas sat in his current Butler's office, dismally looking out over the small pleasure garden. A bird sang a monotonous and annoying trill outside, breaking the rhythm of the ticking clocks.  
  
He'd be back in Carson's office working next, Thomas realized. And it would remain Carson's office for a good, long time. Unlike here where his predecessor had been an unknown and rather unremarkable figure, he'd be at Carson's Downton.  
And the Man Himself, as "senior statesman," would be sweeping through to oversee.  
Would Thomas even dare to change the furniture?  
"Completely fucked." He rubbed a hand across his tired eyes, grimacing.  
  
But a small flame of hope still stayed within him even so. Home. He'd be going home.  
So he forced himself to rise and begin such tasks as would make the next man's life easier in this boring, little (safe, comfortable) household. The two weeks would both pass slowly and too quickly for Thomas.  
\---  
\-----  
Of course it was Mrs. Baxter who first saw him when he entered the door. She smiled that soft smile of hers and reached as though to take his hat. Thomas smirked at her.  
"Are you to meet me every time I come in and out from now on, Mrs. Baxter? Like I'm the lower Lord of the manor and need a reception committee?"  
Baxter fell into step beside him, reaching out to take his arm. ("When did they forget to be afraid to touch me?" Thomas wondered briefly.) "I'm so glad to see you come, Thomas," she began, then laughing corrected herself before he could do it. "Mr. Barrow, I mean."  
"We're all so glad to see you come."  
  
If Baxter had any doubts of that matter, she kept them to herself. She was thankful to have Thomas back. He was like a brother to her. Sometimes she'd outright hated his treatment of her, cruel and nasty boy. But she'd not backed down from claiming him for her own.  
  
"You'll do well to unpack and settle in quickly, though I'm sure it won't take long. We put you back in your old room. You can take any of the others you'd like, of course, but Mrs. Hughes thought the familiarity would suit you best.  
"We went up on a mission and dragged back down what all you'd filched from the attics," Baxter somewhat laughed. "You should have heard Carson complain after you'd left and we went to clean your room. He called you a Magpie. And up it all went to it's proper spot.  
"But now we've gone and brought it back again, so you should be in good shape."  
  
They were at the bottom of the stairs, and Baxter gave him one last pat before relinquishing her hold. She knew Thomas Barrow well enough to know he'd probably want a bit of time to acclimate himself before seeing the rest of the staff.  
She smiled and let him run catch his breath.  
\---  
Thomas smiled back, or at least tried to, since he was never really sure if he was producing a true smile or that slight smirk that had become his default. He wasn't sure why, but people seemed to truly not like that smirk. So he was trying to change, but it was a work in progress.  
  
Climbing the stair, satchel in hand and still in his coat, he felt almost like an intruder. True, he'd visited a short two weeks before, had come in the same door and mounted the same stairs. He'd seen everyone that he was half-dreading seeing now.  
"There's nothing to be alarmed about," he muttered to the empty air, to the dust motes spinning lazily down.  
There was an air of unreality about things, as his footfalls echoed in the stairwell.  
  
Thomas felt like at the end of a children's yarn where the hero (himself, of course) was rewarded with his heart's fondest desire and they all lived happily ever after.  
But no one says what happens when the hero has to deal with the same silly characters in the days and the years after.  
\----  
A short time later, the staff began to gather for their luncheon. In that odd human telegraph that the downstairs folks had, the message had gone out to everyone already that Mr. Barrow had arrived.  
Of course, it was the topic of conversation, since none of the upstairs folks had done anything beyond rest in the weeks following the holidays. (It was, after all, so tiring for them, poor old things.)  
  
"Thomas Barrow." John Bates didn't know whether to laugh or cry to know that his former nemesis-recent friend was now to be Butler.  
Bates had willingly sealed a truce of sorts with the man before he'd departed. Bates had not, of course, expected to have to hold the line on that truce with Thomas Barrow and he in the same house.  
Such was life.  
  
Life had made John Bates a realist. He judged the angles and calculated the odds of any situation.  
But now, inside he was soft. Inside he was one soppy old man, thanks to the woman sitting proudly at his side. Anna had reached into him and turned him from someone almost too far gone to redeem into someone people could again respect.  
And she tried to make him see that most people had that goodness within. Anna the optimist. In spite of every horrid thing she'd suffered, she still believed in goodness.  
  
"But Thomas Barrow," Bates gave a low almost groan under his breath. His wife, catching it, looked over and giggled.  
"Mr. Bates, behave," she warned playfully.  
  
Bates knew he'd try to act right, remembering how she'd cried over Thomas of all people.  
"It was almost more a murder than a suicide," Anna had told him all those months before when she'd revealed what Thomas had done. "He'd slashed his wrists, because he boxed himself into a corner. Then we wouldn't let him out, and he gave up trying." She'd sat sewing, stabbing her needle into the cloth with a ferocity that belied her calm face. But then her face crumpled and the tears escaped.  
  
"Are you calling me a murderer?" Bates had tried to joke, which only got him a mild smack on his shoulder as she arose.  
"I'm calling us all that in a way," she'd replied. "Though I'll put Thomas himself in there, too, since it was him that dug the hole. But we were filling it over him, to be sure.  
"We've got to never do the like again, John," she'd said, her voice soft and serious and filled with sorrow. "Everyone has a heart, not matter how they hide it. We've got to be especially kind to him now, you especially."  
He'd not wanted to, of course, but he'd tried and made his peace. And he'd try and "behave" this day, too, if more for his wife's sweet optimistic beliefs than for the heart of Thomas Barrow.  
\---  
Chairs scraped as the staff stood, interrupting Bates' thoughts. He awkwardly arose with the rest.  
Thomas entered the room, waited a beat, then sat, motioning them all to join.  
  
Daisy wafted in, smiling, on a cloud of delicious scent. "Beef stew, Daisy?" Thomas asked, surprised.  
"Yes, Mr. Barrow," she grinned. "Mrs. Patmore said that it was your favorite, so we made it special this morning. Those rolls, too, and something chocolatey for dessert, though I'm not supposed to tell you yet."  
"Thank you, Daisy," Barrow said, giving her a direct and serious look. "It looks wonderful."  
  
"Well, the kitchen votes approval," Andy joked, taking the bowl as it was passed round. "Not that they didn't love Mr. Carson," he said, giving a blushing nod to Mrs. Hughes, "But still...."  
"No, it's a good thing," Mrs. Hughes agreed. "And I can say for sure that I'll enjoy the stew myself. The upstairs will have to whistle for their beef tonight." And she passed the warm rolls down the other side.  
  
They tucked in, enjoying the food and the chance at rest. Servants really didn't get much of a break at mid-day meal, so they didn't talk as much as they would in the evening. Downton had a tea to break the late afternoon, then evening meal after the family, so that most of the staff could relax after and feel their day was finally done.  
Mid-day was a more hurried time, but still a lovely break in the action.  
  
Andy Parker could be heard piping up again, asking Mr. Barrow if he'd had a good journey and if he'd liked how they'd put his room together. Thomas' voice was a quiet reply, Andy's puppy enthusiasm making his slightly louder.  
They were friends, these two very dissimilar men. Thomas knew that he could count Andy and Daisy in that role, with Baxter like family. Mrs. Hughes? Mother Confessor. Anna? His conscience that sometimes scratched. Bates?  
  
As though conjured by Thomas' thoughts, their eyes met.  
"And so, like a bad penny, you again turn up," Mr. Bates called up the table to Barrow. He said it with an effort at a smile.  
Thomas paused as a beat of silence hit the table. Usually this was where the two of them started snarling at each other.  
He let Bates' smile take precedence and smiled back. "Yes, Mr. Bates. Here we are again."  
Anna smiled at her husband and Phyllis smiled at Thomas. Then they smiled at each other with a look that so plainly said "look, the boys are playing nice" that both of said men smirked a knowing smirk at the other.  
  
And then Daisy brought in the pudding, and no one thought much about anything else for a while.  
"God bless chocolate," Thomas Barrow thought.  
\----  
\---  
Later on, when most of the staff had scattered and only the cooks, Mrs. Hughes, and Mr. Barrow were downstairs, Nanny brought the children down.  
Sybbie and George were champing at the bit, of course. Yesterday, Tom Branson had told his daughter, and Lady Mary her son, that Barrow was to return that day.  
  
The two youngsters had been in a tear all morning over it, but Nanny insisted that they must stick to their routine.  
"Bowwow, Bowwow. We wanna see Bowwow," Master George immediately began yelling, kicking his heels so violently that Nanny had been forced to punish him for ungentlemanly conduct. It was simply unacceptable in a child his age.  
  
Miss Sybbie, quieter but also given to an independent spirit, had seemed to want to rush time, too. When Nanny said they'd finish an art project before going down, Sybbie had looked thoughtful for a moment before abruptly turning over the paint trays onto the paper, and taking a few artistic swirls with her brush.  
"Finished. What do we need to do next?" she'd said, in a quiet little voice that Nanny was sure was actually a challenge.  
  
So by mid-afternoon, Nanny was frazzled enough to allow them a trip below.  
She actually did this with some frequency, since batter was usually being mixed about now for the evening dessert, and children can be made to behave all morning long with a promise of batter spoons to be licked. Usually could be made to behave. Sometimes could be made to behave.  
This afternoon, however, the delights of a batter spoon paled to the return of their friend.  
  
Racing, they collided into him, a tangle of arms, legs, and delight.  
  
Thomas smiled.  
  
When he left, Thomas Barrow had been quite sure the children would quickly forget him. It wasn't that he doubted their affection. Children were honest, which was one of his favorite things about them. Another was their innate kindness. Even if they made a blunt comment or hurt someone's feelings, they usually did it justly or apologized and made it right.  
The world of children was far kinder to Thomas than the world of adults.  
  
Even so, Thomas was sure he'd become merely a footnote in their childhood story.  
But the time had been short and the gods had been kind, and he found himself reunited with the children he loved.  
  
"So how much trouble have you been in today?" he said, looking over their heads at the ragged looking Nanny.  
"The day's not ober yet," George lisped with a serious voice. "But quite a bit, act'ally."  
There was a reason Butlers had their favorites.  
  
"Well, come into the office, and we shall have a chat about it," Thomas said, trying to hide a smirk.  
"And I'll want to hear about your doings, too, Young Miss," he said, smoothing the girl's hair and looking into a face that was so much like her mother's that Thomas felt his heart tear a bit at the edges just to look. He had promised himself that he'd try to look after Miss Sybbie, since Lady Sybil had been so kind to him all those years ago. Thomas again promised himself to do his best for her sake.  
  
Children in tow, he left the Nanny in with Daisy and Mrs. Patmore.  
  
And so they stayed peacefully occupied until the ringing of the gong forced them to action.  
The children left. Dinner was smoothly served. Night came. And while Thomas woke a while in the wee small hours of the morning to worry a bit, he did his best to keep his fertile imagination at bay.  
Thus, time again began its slow and stately pace at Downton, with Thomas Barrow back in the fold managing to stay--if not happy--at least not unhappy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm surprised to see someone's reading this. (Insert image of pageant contestant, proud and stammering all at once)  
> I'm really working out my own "issues" but welcome along. And apologies, first fic, all that...  
> This morning, I'm thinking on why s1 Carson was my fave, in spite of his uber traditional ways, and s6 Carson seemed so out of character (still conservative, but a MEAN conservative). At least I'm trying to get him a bit back on my good side. This might take more than one morning.

\-----  
\-----

Carson, though, Carson was another matter.  
  
The aging butler was still in a bit of denial that Time had moved on without him, leaving Thomas Barrow in his place.  
For damnable Barrow (who had stolen and lied and done foul things) was now, indeed, in that most noteable post, Butler of Downton. Sullying it.  
Mr. Carson sighed heavily and felt his hand clench and slowly release.  
  
Charles knew he shouldn't think things like that, should have empathy with Barrow. His wife would have his head on a pike for such thoughts.  
"He's worked hard, too, no one denies it," he lectured himself roughly.  
Still, the many sins of Thomas Barrow played in the foreground of the old man's mind. He flinched slightly when the images turned too graphic.  
Carson had tried to apply his ordinarily kind nature to this particular individual, but it was currently a losing struggle for him. He huffed out an exasperated breath.

At first, Mr. Carson had accepted the change, as was a Proper reaction.  
After all it meant that he would not be completely parted from his beloved Downton in spite of his disability. And he couldn't dispute Barrow's training, since he'd trained Barrow himself.  
In addition, Lord Grantham had 'spoken,' and Carson did not feel it his place to question his Lordship. But he was still uneasy with it all.  
So here he was a few months later, planning on broaching the 'problem' again, at least in the most passive terms.  
\---  
For it was finally the break of the season, and, as the snow was melting, Carson and Lord Grantham found themselves together at a meeting of the Memorial Committee. Since the memorial was in the center of town, the committee had decided to beautify it with flowers each spring.  
  
Carson was surprised, but not shocked, to learn that it took several meetings to organize, select, and have such plantings done. "Can we not just ask his Lordship to choose and then I assign the labor to those best suited?" Carson had tried to encourage Mrs. Wigan.  
But the woman demurred, acting as though her opinion was equal to a peer's. (What would you expect from someone who put the milk in first at tea?)  
No, committees were not like life in service, where one man made the decisions and others followed orders.  
"Utterly inefficient," Carson had garumphed at the woman, though he was sure the results would be pleasing.  
  
At some point.  
  
Now that the meeting was here, however, the butler was glad for it, because he knew that the committee's banal natterings would eventually bring him to a private moment with the master of Downton. At adjournment, Carson had his chance.  
And of course, falling into step with Lord Grantham was the most natural thing in the world for the old man. He'd spent his adult life at his lordship's side.  
  
"So how are things going with your new establishment?" Grantham began, jovially enough. "We do expect you to help out when the Cavendashes come through, you know. That is if you can." The tone was one of bon ami. The earl looked Carson in the eye and smiled widely.  
  
"Certainly, my lord," Carson rumbled. "Whatever time you need, I will be at your disposal."  
  
"Barrow is doing splendidly, of course, but he's running on a rather lean staff, as you yourself know. So Lady Grantham and I appreciate your presence, Carson. Besides you so well know Cavendash's preferences, having arranged things before."  
  
"Of course, my lord," the rumble came again.  
  
His Lordship appreciated Carson and had great feeling for the man, who was being put out to pasture before he wanted to be. Grantham himself felt marginalized by the younger generation, though not quite boxed out yet.  
He still held the title, by God.  
And in Grantham's mind, by making Carson "senior statesman," he'd allowed Carson that same dignity of keeping his rank even if he was not in the mix day to day.  
  
"I'm glad that Barrow hasn't failed, my lord. I was a bit worried that the sudden change of circumstance might unsettle him...fray at his nerves, as it were. If that did happen, you know that I will always be willing to step in and serve the family." Carson landed this broad hint as delicately as he could.  
  
But Grantham immediately caught the meaning. "No, no, Carson. We all have our roles to play, including Barrow. He'll do fine, had enough years as the understudy to know Downton's workings.  
"And we still do have your lovely bride on hand every day to keep things steady."  
"No, I didn't mean to make things sound drastic by any means. I know how busy you must be with the cottage. Just give us some time for the truly special events, where we need some exceptional advice based on your wisdom. That should suffice."  
  
"As you wish, my lord," Carson said, disappointed but sufficiently praised to feel somewhat better. 

They'd come to the fork in the path.  
  
"I'll be going this way then, my lord. If you need me or if you think of anything further on the memorial business, do have Barrow send word by. I will come at once if you call."  
  
The two men parted, each going toward his home.  
\---  
His lordship, Earl of Grantham couldn't help but feel melancholy as he walked the familiar road toward Downton. He'd dismissed the car earlier. How many times had he walked this path in his day, well before such things as automobiles had even come on the scene?  
It was a bit lonely without Tia trailing him, but the walk would still give him time to think, time to adjust his mood before facing his family for tea.  
  
Grantham sometimes felt out of sorts these days. He didn't know exactly why, but sometimes his mood shifted rather abruptly and he didn't want to unnecessarily inflict such vagaries on his darling wife.  
  
Take the business with Carson. Lord Grantham still felt wretched about the whole thing. He'd played it off as best as possible, gave Carson what he could, but he had to admit it wasn't just Carson's small infirmity that had sealed his fate.  
They could have worked around that.  
  
Lord Grantham had actually used that moment when Carson admitted he might need replacement to repair an injustice that had eaten at him for months before.  
  
Barrow.  
  
It wasn't that Lord Grantham exactly liked the man. Thomas Barrow had been quite the oily devil in his younger days.  
But he'd also been loyal, worked hard, and seemed to be somewhat more steady after the war. He'd saved Edith...and he'd searched all night for Isis.  
  
While Grantham believed in the traditional values--red blooded males, a woman's place, and all that--he knew those values had to be tempered by a sense of fair play and mercy. Such was his mandate.  
  
And there was something not quite correct in how hard they'd pushed Thomas Barrow. (Mary had been right, though she was cruel in the way she'd said it.)  
  
So frankly, the Incident with Barrow had left Lord Grantham with a touch of bitterness toward.......Carson, of all people, even after all the years they'd been together. It was just a touch, but there none the less.  
Carson had let him down. Why, he'd almost left the family with blood on their hands! And it was more to do with his prejudices about Barrow's preferences than trying to help the house economize, Lord Grantham had come to believe.  
Robert pushed the mess aside. It was done. The hard decision had been made, easing out the old for the new.  
  
An outsider might not understand Grantham's new choice in butlers. But he'd genuinely tried his best to do Justice by both men, while still fulfilling his own duty to Downton.  
\----  
Equally lost in thought--though quite different thought--Charles Carson went down the path and over a cobbled street to his cottage.  
  
He was disappointed but had pretty well known that the transition was final, and that he would be less and less needed with each passing year.  
True, Carson felt satisfied with his Lordship's smooth words, but he also knew that his place at Downton was now merely symbolic. He'd known what he had to do the moment he'd seen his hand start to quiver, though he'd tried to pretend as long as possible.  
  
The irony, Mr. Carson thought, was that Thomas held against him the pressure to find a different job. Not the finding, perhaps, because that was his lordship's decision....but the pressuring, definitely.  
  
Now, Charlie Carson admitted that he'd bullied the boy. His tone had sometimes been downright rude, though he'd tried to stop himself short and never, ever had imagined it was enough to push Thomas over the edge.  
  
What Thomas didn't realize was that when he left as underbutler, Charlie knew he would no longer be able to minimize his infirmity. The whole time Thomas had been pressured by the thought of finding a job, Carson had felt the pressure of knowing his secret was about to be thrust into the spotlight.  
  
Yes, Thomas Barrow deserved to be kept on a very short leash, perhaps even fired. Carson still could not agree with any of the young man's life choices. But he regretted that his own worries had made him display his views with cruelty, and that cruelty had caused the Incident.  
  
His wife had added the detail that finally made Charles Carson realize the enormity of his error in pressing Barrow. When Mrs. Hughes had helped change him out of his wet things, she'd seen scars, she said. Charlie tried to pass them off as marks of the Incident, or even old sporting injuries.  
"I know what I've seen, because I've seen the like before," she'd snapped at him. "These weren't just marks on his wrists or scars on his hands. These were across his back, and vicious to look at."  
Elsie Hughes had seen many things in her life, she reminded her husband, and she told him there were some people who'd just suffered enough and deserved to be left alone, no matter what.  
  
So that left Mr. Carson grieving at the loss of his position, but trying to deny his anger as much as possible. And it left him wanting to have Thomas banished from the house, while not quite able to come straight out against the man with whom he disagreed so much. 

It was not a very satisfying time to be Charlie Carson.

But as the old man entered the cottage door, he found his mood mellowing somewhat.  
Elsie was inside with Mrs. Patmore, who'd come to call earlier. Surely that meant a basket of baked goods to supplement their evening meal. "A good meal and a good wife," he thought benevolently.  
  
Charlie stopped only for a quick hello to their guest, then went to change. The ladies could finish up the last of their gossip that way, he thought, amused. The two laughing voices were like sweet music to his ears.  
They'd soon have all the world sorted, he was sure.  
\----  
And so it was, the two old friends had spent the morning sipping and talking, talking and sipping.  
  
By the time Mr. Carson entered, they'd had a good long chat and had, indeed, come to many satisfactory solutions to Downton's problems. If only the two could just reach out and force each of the individuals in question to toe the mark, every one of their lives would be much improved.  
  
Take Charles himself. They'd already had a thorough thrash through of all his issues early on. They wanted to make sure to finish before he returned.  
No disloyal thoughts were in any way expressed, though honesty in assessments were allowed. Sometimes those that love you know the brutal truth the best.  
  
"Mr. Carson is a kind man and a good one, too," Mrs. Hughes had stated emphatically, having just spent the half hour with her friend discussing him from every angle. "The years have shown that to everyone, not just me."  
Mrs. Patmore nodded and sipped her Earl Grey, wondering if Elsie Hughes would ever publicly admit her husband had a first name.  
"But he's frustrated, you know. He hates any sort of change."  
"Oh, I've noticed that before, you can be sure," Beryl interjected with a note of 'amen, sister.'  
  
"He sees it as an affront. And he's so used to having power that he's now taken to managing the work around the cottage. Managing most closely," Elsie Hughes said with a dark tone.  
"Ah, dear, that doesn't bode well. Is there any chance of offering him a distraction?"  
Mrs. Hughes looked at her friend curiously, not sure what she meant. "A distraction?" she repeated.  
"Yes, ships in bottles, collecting stamps, whatever it is that retired village gents do," Mrs. Patmore added, having read more novels than she'd care to admit.  
  
Mrs. Hughes started chuckling, her voice rich and amused. "I don't exactly picture Mr. Carson putting a ship in a bottle, Mrs. Patmore."  
"Well, he was always good with the Abbey children," Patmore offered, voice trailing off.  
"No chance of us with that," Hughes replied, bursting into a true laugh. "Not that we aren't... but I don't. Oh, just not that...." And she turned red, in spite of continuing to laugh, and her friend joined in. Beryl Patmore knew far too much on that particular subject to want to pursue it any further. At all. Ever.  
  
"Well maybe in the course of organizing the War Memorial beautification fund, he can run into an entire grubby tribe of village children, become the town Pied Piper." The women went off into a gale of laughter yet again.  
"At least that project will give him something to control and some prestige besides, so it's a start. We'll keep thinking until we come up with something better. And in the meantime," here Mrs. Hughes lowered her voice. "What have you heard about that new village girl who wants to work as a maid...."  
  
And so another topic came to the table.  
  
By the time Charles Carson returned home, the two friends had had a good catch up, indeed.


	3. Chapter 3

Meanwhile back at Downton Abbey, everyone kept to their assigned tasks and their assigned stations. And the days and months continued on apace.  
One thorny little problem that Thomas had to nip in the bud was the burgeoning romance between Daisy and Andy. Since he was friends with them both, it was difficult, but he simply couldn't have Andy pining and sighing in the kitchens. It was unseemly, and perhaps even unsanitary.  
("God, I'm beginning to sound like Carson," Thomas groaned to himself at the thought.)  
He didn't want to entirely kill the relationship, obviously. Daisy Mason certainly deserved a husband, and Andy Parker was a good candidate for the job.  
  
But about the third time Thomas had to tell them "stop that, you two" as they made eyes in the passageway or "come along, please, we can't keep them waiting," well, that was three times too many.  
Thomas, attuned to scents, had even noticed that Daisy had taken to dabbing a bit of vanilla extract somewhere on her person, so that everywhere she went it smelled like cake. Andy had taken to combing his mop of curls whenever the opportunity presented. Giddy as teenagers they were.  
  
There were days when it was a relief for Mr. Barrow to go into the office and close the door.  
\----  
Indeed, the office was his sanctuary and not just from ordinary stresses.  
Some days it STILL pained Thomas Barrow very much to be alive. It was a struggle to even breathe.  
  
Silly, he knew.  
Silly old him.  
  
Today, he'd overhead a bit of a conversation where Mrs. Hughes was correcting the new maid. The maids came and went from the village now, almost part time, though the hours were still fairly long.  
Hughes had scolded the girl and called her a "noodle," and suddenly it wasn't her firm, warm voice Barrow heard but that of O'Brien.  
  
"You silly noodle," O'Brien chided him on more than one occasion when some scheme hadn't gone his way. At first he'd thought it was an endearment of sorts, that she was his only protection in a shifting world, what with the others falling away as he made a series of disasterous choices.  
  
Then O'Brien had betrayed him so thoroughly it still left him cold. Pure malice.  
  
"You silly noodle," Hughes (O'BRIEN) said. With that, Thomas Barrow rushed into the butler's office, closed the door, and leaned against it.  
His breath came in gasps, almost a panic.  
"This is absurd," he thought, but couldn't control it.  
  
Panting, Barrow looked at his desk--the litter of inventories and invoices, a ledger of the day's events and menus, a heavy ring of keys. His eyelids flickered briefly shut, before he pulled himself alert.  
  
There was a ticking of multiple clocks, Thomas having brought down two more to make a chorus. It was a foolish indulgence, he knew, but--as in his bedroom-- the sound of the ticking lulled him and made it easier to keep a handle on his rushing thoughts.  
Finally his breathing slowed to normal and he could move to take his seat.  
  
"Noodle," he muttered to himself in his own voice.  
\---  
  
This morning, a letter came from Jimmy.  
Barrow had centered it neatly on his desk, trying to keep from opening it until the end of the day. "Perhaps now would be a good time. I'd profit from a bit of a distraction," he thought. A butler's work was never actually done, but the job did have the advantage of being able to pace that work how he liked.  
  
Thomas had last actually *seen* Jimmy right before he'd had the electroshock therapy. He'd said he was doing an errand for his lordship and visited an hour before leaving. Their time together had given Thomas Barrow the courage to try to become "normal."  
  
So much for that.  
  
He'd written Jimmy a note when he found new employers, saying he'd been unhappy recently but glossing over it. Because even for someone he loved, Thomas Barrow was not too able to share his real thoughts. He'd mostly always left them unsaid, expecting Jimmy to see or not see them as he saw fit.  
Thomas had not mentioned suicide in his letters at all, of course. And his not telling was tantamount to hiding from someone who still called him his best friend. Even his note about returning to Downton was a breezy one, without any indication of angst.  
  
"And why was that?" he wondered.  
  
Somehow Thomas still hoped to impress Jimmy. And somehow, in a deep recess of his mind, he still hoped that Jimmy would completely throw over what he claimed as his nature and realize that Thomas was "the one." But Jimmy, while revelling in the attention, still made sure to not cross that line.  
  
They were best mates for life. Enough. (Have to be.)  
  
What wasn't enough was Jimmy Kent's truly lousy skills at correspondance. The former footman had left him time to settle in, then peppered him with both probing questions, snarky jokes, and some encouragement--though never soppy.  
But as before, this particular letter was covered with blotches from a leaky pen, and Thomas made a mental note about the potential such splotchiness indicated for a Christmas present.  
And Jimmy's script was almost illegible, his friend thought with a frown.  
  
Idjit.  
(Lovely idjit.)  
  
Barrow sat reading and re-reading the words, concentrating hard with his tongue slightly poking through his lips. Kitten tongue, his mum had called it, and Thomas did it unawares when he was truly focusing. Now his focus was on reading, not just the lines that Jimmy wrote, but in between the lines, too.  
  
It was far easier with Jimmy Kent at a distance. The distance allowed Thomas the full pleasure of his love without worrying he'd somehow overstep that tentative boundary and send Jimmy running. "But if he were here," he thought, "perhaps I now know enough on how to 'be friends' to do it right when the stakes are high."  
Here was still the rub. Thomas Barrow judged himself a very poor friend to Jimmy, very poor indeed, and totally blamed himself that his friend was fired. Barrow had done his duty to the family (and saved a life)over warning Jimmy what was up (as he'd promised his friend.)  
  
Jimmy Kent, of course, understood and had never even questioned Thomas' actions. It was obviously what was right. But Thomas questioned himself, and found himself wanting.  
  
When that voice of censure in his head sounded (a voice that sounded remarkably like his father's) Barrow now knew to try and shut it down and replace it. This was not an easy task, but he knew now that the best course was to remember a comment from Baxter when he was feeling low. Replace his father's voice with hers, the same way he'd replaced his father's voice with his mother's as a child.  
Baxter didn't sugar coat, but she was kind, and she found Barrow worthy of her kindness.  
It still rather awed him that this was so.  
  
\---  
A good fifteen minutes had passed in reading the short note, and the butler began to notice a scratching sound amid the shuffling of his papers and the ticking of the clocks. While it sounded like nothing more than a mouse, Thomas suspected immediately at its true cause.  
  
Master George had taken it in his head to hide in Thomas' office several times over the course of the month. It was driving Nanny to distraction, but Master George was a wily escape artist, small and fast and quite capable of finding his way from the nursery to below stairs.  
At least she now knew where to find him when he went missing. And it did serve as a cooling off place, since George had taken to coming whenever he and Nanny locked horns and life was just "too wuff."  
  
One such tantrum had come after Nanny corrected Master George in his assumption about the nature of parents. In stories, parents came in pairs. At Downton, they did not.  
  
George had, at first, noticed nothing amiss, since Sybbie's dad and his mother had seemed to make the requisite number.  
But then Talbot appeared, and Nanny dared to suggest that he was George's father. This simply would not do. George didn't mind Tom Branson. He'd gladly take Mr. Barrow. But Talbot, with his absolutely amazing lack of child-charming skills, simply would NOT do.  
  
It had taken all of an evening for Thomas to toll the child out of hiding that time. He'd made no improper comment, but noted that Lady Mary left Georgie to him more than Talbot from then on. And Nanny said no more on the topic.  
  
Now, Thomas scratched out a note to the nursery, checked to make sure the tiny blonde figure was indeed hidden behind the shelves, and stepped out momentarily. Note handed to hallboy and Nanny alerted, Thomas returned, casually taking his seat and beginning to work.  
Master George would come talk if he wanted, Barrow was sure. Mainly, though, they both just enjoyed the ticking of the clocks as a steady stream of business came and went.  
  
And a small, warm memory of his own childhood flashed by before Thomas could even recognize it--a time when he himself was tiny and played quietly in the back of the shop, a time before he invoked his father's rage by merely breathing.  
It was a fleeting fragmentary memory, quite unnoticed, but with it Mr. Bowwow relaxed.


	4. Chapter 4

Note: I'm not sure it's *extremely* hot, temperature wise, but they wore all those layers of clothes and underthings. So, I'm assuming that even the nobles might "glow" a bit in the heat. Sorry if that assumption puts anyone off. 

\------  
\------  
Up the stairs in the main rooms, life went on with as much pomp and circumstance as could be mustered in the regular procession of days--summer became late summer soon enough. 

The Crawleys were taking a few choice items to auction again, what with the economy continuing somewhat depressed.  
  
As Andy noted, it was rather tiring to hear of this painting or that artifact being mourned over at luncheon.  
"I doubt they've even seen half these bobs and bits before they think to sell them," Andy grumbled good-naturedly. "They've got so many things to spare. Perhaps they should just be thankful someone's got the cash to buy what they don't need."  
  
Thomas, passing by and doing a final check, gave a nod. "What's the latest? Some grand Egyptian jar that looks like a chamber pot?"  
  
Andy's snorting laugh was soft in awareness that they were standing just beyond the baize door. "It's not like they need money anyway, right?" Everyone knew that tale of how Mr. Matthew's money had placed the Crawleys in an enviable position--set to ride the long ride.  
  
"Well, only the TipTop never have worries. And the headlines said even some of those sort are failing. But to folks like us it does seem like a rather plush place to be crying poor in.  
"Another decade along, they'll have poor Master George out on the market looking for an heiress," Thomas muttered softly back. "The rich aren't like you and me, lad."  
  
The two men, sweating lightly in liveries too heavy for August heat, nodded sagely to one another before carrying out another loaded tray.  
\---  
Truly, though, Lady Mary felt as oppressed as a woman could be.  
She was not sure why, but this second pregnancy had made her excessively lethargic. Unlike with George, there were days when the young wife could barely leave her bed.  
  
Still, Mary knew that she couldn't stop pushing herself, since she'd have to 'lie in' soon enough.  
Sometimes when she would sit at table, Lady Mary could almost feel the absolute weight of Downton pressing down on her thin shoulders. And she couldn't relieve herself by complaints--a bit of a rant over dinner--for if she did, her mother would simply turn the conversation to a more 'polite' topic.  
  
So Mary tried to lighten her days with clothes and entertainments, but duty always came back to pin her down.  
At times, she enjoyed being agent of the estate, reveled in it really, because at times it was interesting. But other times, it was a string of dull days and dull chores and dull people. Still, Lady Mary was her father's daughter. It wouldn't be she who let the family enterprise collapse.  
  
"But it's so miserably warm," she groaned under her breath when, for the third time, the telephone rang and some farmer needed direction on this or that.  
  
Day after day, Mary kept her thumb on everything, or tried to. So imagine her irritation when her brother-in-law, Tom Branson, mentioned that one of the farmers was taking stock down to sale early.  
"What, without me knowing?" Mary drawled, gaze suddenly steely. "It's still over a month's time."  
  
"Well, feed prices are up, the offer was beyond what you told him you'd want, and no one thought you'd mind." (Tom, for all his earthiness, was not about to point out that, given Mary's...ahem...limitations, she should probably pass him more of the tasks, not quibble over having less.)  
"They did mention it to me, because I happened to pass on the road and stopped to talk. And I am now mentioning it to you." Tom's tone was light. He was not about to let sister Mary start bullying him at this late date.  
"I suppose you can go down today and stop Mason from doing it. They won't be gone 'til tomorrow, if you're determined to lose the deal. But I'll tell you quietly that old Mason looked a bit done in, so it might be best that he gets the sale in early."  
  
Mary made a face, sulking.  
  
"Pigs again?" Henry said, entering the library on the end of the comment. "You know you are not allowed to do anything with those pigs unless you have written approval from my beloved wife. She's very partial to swine."  
  
Mary was not amused. She rounded on the new arrival.  
"Really, Henry, why would you joke? Surely you don't run your car business in a casual manner, flirting about from place to place just in the off chance of a sale. Well, the farms keep Downton going."  
  
His astonished face made her angrier still.  
"So if hearing Tom and I talk of stock sales and harvests isn't entertaining enough, maybe you should go."  
The two men exchanged a look, but neither rose to the bait.  
She hesitated for only a moment.  
  
"Well, then maybe I should. Barrow, have the car brought round," Mary said.  
The reply of "yes, my lady" went ignored as Lady Mary made her way across the room to snatch up a few folders.  
"Sometimes the two of you just don't seem to take things seriously enough."  
\----  
Mary stalked out, and as she left the room, she gave her husband a considering look. Maybe she was the one who hadn't taken things seriously enough.  
Her second marriage certainly wasn't settling into the peaceful lines of the first.  
Now, perhaps it was her discomfort talking. But for one fleeting moment Lady Mary considered that she'd taken longer to turn down her last suitor than to jump into a lifetime commitment with Henry. (How had that happened so fast?)  
Hmmm.....  
  
"No, I'm just out of sorts and lashing out," she thought as she crossed the main hall. "It's my nature to be contrary, but I must stop taking it out on Henry. Where is Edith when you need her? She always made a convenient whipping boy."  
  
Mary smirked as she swept through the front door, never hesitating to see if it would open in time for her. Because, of course, it always did.  
  
"I'll leave the sale alone. Tom's right if they met our price." Lady Mary entered the car in a swirl of fabric.  
"Driver, take me to Carson's," she ordered. Mary would impose on Carson for a cup of tea and sympathy. They'd both enjoy that, she knew.  
Then perhaps by Granny's for a bit of verbal swordsplay to calm her nerves.  
  
Mary Crawley set her hat more firmly in place, and rolled off.


	5. Chapter 5

WARNING: Major character death  
So I killed off someone I love this morning. And I can't even have the satisfaction of cursing the screen, like I did after s3, because I did it myself. (And I feel so bad, since the character/creation was so good...)  
But I read several articles a week or so ago by a cast member who said they'd have to start any movie with said cast member's funeral. Now, hopefully that was a joke or a ploy to get more cash in the contract.  
But it stuck in my mind. So I hope if anyone is still reading, you don't hate me half as much as I hate myself.  
AND IF YOU DON'T WANT SUCH GLOOMINESS, THIS CHAPTER AND THE NEXT JUST LIFTS OUT.  


\----  
\----  
Late summer became early fall, which on arrival didn't feel much better.  
In the attics, the servants had a hard time getting any rest at all in the hours they managed to lie down. It was, therefore, to everyone's great relief when the weather finally began to turn.  
And it was astonishingly beautiful to see the colors finally come to the landscape.

The Dowager Countess accepted the invitation to drive up to the Abbey for dinner with her family and to admire the changing season's effect on the Capability Brown setting along the way.  
Some might prefer the riotous colors of June, but Violet had a fondness for the rarer delights of fall and even winter in a well-orchestrated 'view.' 

The Dowager also had heeded the call since the Abbey now contained a new arrival--little Violet Elizabeth--who had finally stopped torturing Mary long enough to be born. Old Lady Grantham had seen the infant in hospital, of course, but a namesake still deserved another look.

The Dowager had not been up to the Abbey for a while, since she had not felt well--the heat formidable even for her.  
"I didn't think your mother bowed to forces of nature," Cora had joked to Robert the first time the Dowager had sent a note to cancel. 

After a while, however, she took some time to visit the Dower House to see if there had been some sort of rift.  
Cora was surprised to find Violet simply tired out.  
The old lady had been running on wit and stubborn pride for years, however, so they agreed to leave it go. 

And sure enough, the Dowager was coming to dine once again, now with the weather fine.

\----  
The chandelier twinkled in all its crystal glory and a gramophone softly played a melody in the background.

The Dowager Countess entered, dressed head to toe in formal attire, impeccably turned out.  
She had taken to actually Needing the cane she carried, which irked her, but it *was* a beautifully carved one with a great gold top in which Violet took some satisfaction. Her husband had once used that cane to great advantage, beating off a man in Egypt when they were on an journey there. (She had been beautiful and her husband jealous. Alas, for days gone by!)

Even with the cane, the Dowager still managed to make a commanding entrance.

Barrow stood by the door, along with the new one. The Dowager thought for a second before the name came...Andrew? She believed in knowing all one's staff, but Violet still didn't quite know this youngster.

She smirked at the term. "Youngster?" To her, Barrow was still a youngster, though she spied a bit of grey in his raven hair.  
She'd danced with Thomas at his very first servant's ball and the nervous child had quite trod on her toes. But she'd let it pass, not just because a Lady should, but also because Barrow looked something like Robert's late father--those startling blue-grey eyes.

So each year, she'd allowed the boy a chance to try again, even coming to a place where they could trade a quip. ("The Black Bottom? I hope not.")  
She had really become quite fond of the miscreant.  
"Thank you, Barrow," the Dowager said as he walked her in, though it was not proper to ever thank one's servants.

\----  
When Barrow ushered the Dowager in, he announced her with the same gravity that he would reserve for the King and Queen.  
Yet after, he tilted his head and allowed his facade to slip into a bit of a smile. ("It'll be an interesting show tonight. The old lady'll see to that," he thought.)

Lord and Lady Merton were already present when Violet entered, and Isobel smiled that wide, unseemly grin upon her friend's arrival. "You're here at last," came the overly enthusiastic greeting.

"So it does appear," the Dowager nodded, in turn making eye contact with the rest. 

"Would you like something while we gather?" Cora said, coming up to her mother in law. ("Even Cora's got some grey," the Dowager noted with some alarm. "Have I been months or years away? Or like a fairy story, has some covering been taken from my eyes?")  
"Oh, nothing as modern as that," Old Lady Grantham replied. "I'm satisfied Barrow won't decide to keep us like some queue outside a hotel restaurant."

"And what do you know of such establishments?" Robert quipped. "Have you been stepping out to London on us, mama?" He came toward her, smiling.  
"I've lived a life, young man. But you know I won't tell all, especially to my son."

The laughter was gentle and blended with the music in the background. All very fine indeed.

Sybbie, George, and Violet Elizabeth were paraded by in due course and admired effusively.  
However, they were soon returned with Nanny to the nursery, and the grown ups went back to their evening's entertainment.

\---  
Dinner was announced, and they talked of many pleasant things while dining on Mrs. Patmore's fine handiwork. 

Although not usually a sentimentalist, Violet enjoyed it tonight when Robert brought up their family expeditions from long ago. He'd had to let some artifacts go, he said, which opened up the stories of how they came to be at Downton.  
In turn, Violet finally shared the secret of her cane, and they were all amazed.

Then Dickie Merton countered with a tale of an Indian exploit from when he was young. (Violet, of course, knew of it, but it was worth a second listen.)  
Mary contributed her thoughts on Roman ruins, which she'd seen on her (first? second?) honeymoon.

And soon all but Branson had contributed, though what could he tell, Violet thought? Of Ireland and his flight therefrom?  
The Dowager huffed slightly, and Isobel, sitting close by, leaned in.

"I'm truly glad to see you in such good form," she said.  
The Dowager gave a slight smirk.  
Isobel Crawley was the most trying woman she knew at times. But Violet had long ago decided that she was a true friend.  
"It has been a pleasant evening," she admitted.

\---  
But pleasant evenings end and soon enough, Violet, Dowager Countess of Grantham, took the car to her house.  
Spratt ushered her in.  
Denker accompanied her up.  
And finally the Dowager was comfortably settled for the night. 

Her mind began to wander as she relaxed to sleep, and when it all went sideways, she was not really aware. 

\---  
Violet vaguely knew when morning came, for Denker's scream cut somewhat through the fog. 

And there was noise then, a great lot of noise and commotion.  
"Gracious, how vulgar they're being to show such emotion," she thought from some place slightly above herself.  
But Violet Crawley was beyond where she could reprimand. 

"Is this what dying's like then?" she asked herself.  
It was alarmingly comfortable.  
And as smoothly as an angel flew, Violet Crawley gave up the ghost.


	6. Chapter 6

WARNING: Major character death/funeral  
Apologies, still...  
Posting both 5 & 6 today.  
THIS CHAPTER AND THE LAST ONE LIFT OUT.  
Skip them if you don't want to feel gloomy. 

\----  
\----  
\----  
It was yet another funeral, but this time *everyone* felt a dulling sense of unreality.  
Village and Abbey alike had never thought the indomitable old Dowager would fall prey to something as common as death. Larger than life she was to them all.  
  
It was stunning.  
  
But the mechanisms of mourning fell into place soon enough, as in every case they must.  
Grisby's had come and gone and promised to send to London for the specifications for Queen Victoria's cortege (much to the pride of old Mr. Grisby himself.)  
Carriages were being polished, plumes sought for horses, and almost every household in the village would soon have a hand in some part of the draping and bunting.  
It was to be nothing less than a grand send off for such a respected figure and matriarch.

Meantime, the Abbey staff were running about at a speed heretofore thought impossible, since the house was expected to be full to the rafters by the week's end.  
Rooms were never in disarray, of course, but there were sections that were now merely 'acceptable,' not 'outstanding,' and this simply would not do at such a time.  
  
Carson and Barrow were in perfect synch with one another. And when staff came up from London house, orders from one man could serve as orders from both. It was as if they shared one thought--She'd expect excellence--and acted together to reach it.  
  
As to the family, Edith and Bertie came immediately--faster than expected even-- with Bertie having protectively ordered arrangements for packing and cars in an 'officer's voice' as soon as the call came through.  
This was quite at odds with his usual mildness, but understandable for those who knew of his devotion to Edith.  
Upon arrival, the pair was put in her childhood suite. Surprisingly, neither butler considered anything else, because even a Marchioness would prefer the familiar over grandeur at a time such as this.  
  
Rose and Atticus wouldn't be there in time, of course, since not even in the modern era of the 1920's could such speed be accomplished. But Atticus's parents were due to arrive in the course of things, and between news of them, and daily cables from Rose, it was almost as though the pair were in residence.  
\---  
Lord Grantham, meanwhile, had taken to wandering the place like a ghost himself. The staff never knew exactly where they'd find him, downstairs or up.  
But they were all kind to Robert--very gentle and kind--both because he'd lost his mother and because he'd been invariably kind to each of them himself.

One thing that especially seemed to bother Lord Grantham was where to locate his mother's grave.  
This would not usually be given a second thought in the normal course of things. The village churchyard held the graves of Crawleys, ages and ages past.  
His sister Rosamund, staying at the Dower house to supervise things there, insisted that this be the case. She was scandalized that Robert would even consider the alternative.  
  
But Robert's father had been a bit of an eccentric, and he'd wanted his grave on a grander scale, like some pharoah of old. So they'd buried the former earl on a ridge overlooking Downton, a special spot consecrated and encircled by wrought iron, where the breeze always smelled faintly of spruce.  
Grantham believed almost absolutely that his mother would prefer the churchyard (and it was by far the choice of everyone else), but it still ate at his peace, not knowing for sure.  
  
\---  
"At least she had a full life and died a peaceful death," Cora said, the night the news first hit. She loved Robert beyond measure and couldn't stand to see him so wan and sad.  
"Is it ever truly a peaceful thing to die, no matter how?" he'd replied, accepting her arms around him but finding no solace there.  
"Of course it is, darling. Of course it is," she murmured to him as he finally let the tears go.  
  
\---  
Edith, too, wanted to console him. She could tell immediately that her father had not slept and was virtually at the end of his nerve.  
"Are you all right, papa?" she asked, knowing that he wasn't and coming forward in hopes of help.  
"I suppose," he'd replied, though his voice said anything but. "I'm just left a bit astonished at a world without your grandmother."  
"Oh, papa," Edith said, moving to hug him. There were, of course, no words for what they felt.  
"You're a good girl, Edith," her father replied.  
Him saying that was her life's greatest reward.  
  
\---  
Lady Mary found herself trying her best to run "the show." She didn't want to do it, was barely able to move herself for the grief, and, of course, left most of it to the staff.  
But there were condolences to accept and decisions beyond what Carson and Barrow were able to make.  
Mary did her best to make them, shielding her father when she could.  
  
"There is nothing to do but carry on," she'd told Anna, her best source of comfort at the end of each day. "I learned that after Matthew's death. You don't really get over such things, just through them."  
"Let Mr. Branson help as much as you can, my lady," Anna had counselled.  
"Oh, he is, and Mr. Talbot, too, but it's still a lot to bear." Mary turned to the maid and gave her a weak smile. "I'll be glad when it's over, and we can go back to private times.  
  
"Granny would have quite expected such a funeral, but then she would have turned and called it 'overblown' and made all manner of biting criticisms."  
Anna smiled in agreement. "I can hear her voice now, my lady. And I'm sure we'll all hear it in our memory for a long time."  
  
\---  
Downstairs the staff was still pressing on.  
On the day of the funeral, they processed out--a respectable number, nearly what they'd shown before the war, thanks to the London House's reinforcements.

Carson actually let his hand be held the entire time by Mrs. Hughes. She didn't know if he even noticed that they were in public, he was so distraught.  
Carson had a special place in his heart for the Dowager, having been hired by her near the end of her days as Lady Grantham. He'd admired her 'verve,' he said, on more than one occasion.  
And while he'd not care to have it spread about, Charles Carson had spent the week's sleepless nights sharing all the old stories with his wife. She'd worried that he needed rest more than talk, but allowed him to decide.  
  
So the staff mourned, while taking care of visitors who eventually left.  
And the family mourned, eventually going back to their respective homes.  
And the Dowager moved from life to legend.


	7. Chapter 7

It almost seemed like the everyday world should stop after such a momentous event.  
Pedestrian things--newspapers, bills--should be on hold.  
The phone shouldn't ring. 

But life kept on going for those left behind, though their footsteps moved a bit slower and their voices sounded a bit softer.  
And with the continuation of everyday life, came a continuation of love--young love in the form of Andy & Daisy, and a more mature love, too.

It was the latter which caught Bates' attention early one day when the first scattering of snow was on the ground.  
He and Anna walked from their home to the Abbey, hand in hand, still half asleep in the early hour as they made the way. (John, jr., was tucked 'neath his father's coat, warm and waiting for a girl to carry him up to Nursery as soon as they arrived.)  
A truck was pulled up by the back entrance. 

"Mr. Mason?" Anna queried, thinking it was the one she'd seen last week.  
William's father it was. 

And though the excuse was to bring in some fresh jam (along with Daisy and Andy), Bates noticed that Mason's real attentions seemed to be focused on Beryl Patmore, who by turns threatened to "throw him out on his ear" then pressed him to stay for breakfast.  
Thomas joined Bates and the two men eyed Patmore as she simpered about. 

"A starry eyed lass at any age," Bates intoned with a smile.  
"God help us, don't want to think on that particular honeymoon billing and cooing," Thomas retorted.  
"Ah, but when she's happy, she bakes," Andy piled on, coming behind the two to snatch a bit of the food already stacking up.

He took a bite and waggled his eyebrows at Thomas, who snorted and came close to a smile. Bates laughed.  
The three turned to walk down the hall.

"So you're letting the old man beat you at your game?" Thomas asked, giving Andy a long look. Barrow well knew that Andy Parker was shy at heart and might never get over the finish line without something of a push.  
"Thomas..." The footman had the grace to blush and laugh at the same time. "I'm not near the naive git you think me to be." Barrow made a derisive noise.

"He's wise, this one," Bates responded.  
"Years of experience in matters concerning love," Barrow replied, smirking back.  
The two chuckled, and Andy joined in, pleased.

"What's this, then? Are you men on a holiday?" Anna came by and lightly batted at her husband's arm.  
It was a peaceful start that morning.

\----  
While it was usually Baxter who was Thomas Barrow's chief support, Anna Bates of all people came to realize that he had made real strides in being 'pleasant.' She'd even said as much to her husband over tea, causing him to roll his eyes.  
While Mr. Barrow was not nearly so cheery as Anna herself, the butler no longer took out his frustrations by biting the heads off Downton subordinates. (Usually.) 

"You're quite the clever fellow this morning, Mr. Barrow," she'd dared to say when he'd managed a disagreement between the hall boys.  
When Thomas raised an eyebrow, Anna just grinned and said, "a problem well-solved without anyone losing their skin in the process?"  
The maid was clearly being cheeky with him, Thomas realized, joking now and again the way she had when they'd first started.

Later that week Thomas asked her, "Why is it that everyone seems to think they can push at me and I'll not bite back? You should be afraid, you know. I could sack the lot of you." (He was only half in jest, having had a rather trying morning.)  
"Yes, Mr. Barrow," Anna had said, but still with a bit of a smile hiding at the corners of her mouth. It didn't help when he heard a faint giggle after she'd left down the hall.

Thomas sighed. It was a high price to pay to have these people as friends.  
Sometimes he missed being evil. 

Still, the new butler's control wasn't actually slipping. Everyone snapped to fast enough when there was a job at hand, and Barrow heard Anna later that week ticking off one of the others who'd made a joking comment about him as Big Cheese.  
So a respectful line was still there, just not as wide a divide as before.

\---  
Both because he was in charge and because he considered her a friend, Thomas finally found himself considering that he really must "do something" about the matter of Daisy and Andy.  
He couldn't refer things to Mrs. Patmore, though that was properly where anything concerning Daisy should lay. But Mrs. Patmore was too involved in this case, and Thomas could see that Daisy was actively upset.

Now, Barrow had certainly never had much luck in matters of his own heart. And he did not have much patience for heterosexuals whining about their romantic "difficulties." ("I'll give them difficulties," Thomas thought with just a touch of his old bitterness.)  
But he steeled himself for the task. "She's a friend," Barrow gritted out. "This is what friends do for one another."

And when Daisy came in his office, happy to settle for a cuppa, the butler was glad that he'd made the effort. Her wide, honest eyes caught at him. Yet he wasn't quite sure where to begin.

Fortunately, with Daisy, conversations usually started themselves. "So I had the oddest dream last night, and you were in it." She poured for them both, setting a ginger biscuit by his.  
"It was back when William was here and we were still all young and silly. Mrs. Patmore was yelling at me, and I'd nearly poisoned the lot of them upstairs. A strange bit of a dream."

Daisy sipped, and Thomas shot her a questioning look. "And that was all? That's not a very entertaining dream," he prompted. 

"Well, no, that was all for last night. It's just that...." She paused and it came out in a rush, "Sometimes I feel like William is still in the house with us, around me you know. And sometimes, like last night, he even follows me into my dreams." (Thomas felt his eyebrows rise.)  
"At first I was scared that he was angry, but then I decided he'd just stayed to help.

"But now I'm scared again he'll be dissatisfied--seeing me with Andy when his life was cut so short."  
Daisy looked directly at Thomas with expressive eyes. "So what do you make of that? Am I as daft as I feel? Because Mrs. Patmore said she'd have me banged about the head for being such a fool."

Barrow started laughing--a true and delighted laughing that changed his face so remarkably that it left Daisy quite slack jawed. (He'd almost forgotten the girl's gullible fascination with the Ouija board and all things afterlife.)

"Er, Daisy," he started....before stopping to laugh again.  
She recovered enough to join in this time, and they sat together slightly wiping their eyes.

"Daisy, what I think is that you're lucky to have two champions. Or that they're both lucky to have you. And I think that you should stop worrying about William, if that's all that's been the matter." Thomas grinned. "I won't bang you about the head, but I do think you're foolish if you don't realize it will be right with you and Andy."

"You're saying that as a friend, Thomas? Not just the butler who wants peace in his kitchen?" Daisy grinned back.  
"As a friend, Daisy."

\---  
So it came to pass--without Andy ever knowing exactly how--that Daisy decided not just to allow him to pursue her, but also to allow him to catch her. 

Andy Parker suddenly felt like a drowning man who'd finally reached shore.  
At Downton he'd been accepted, limitations and all, and directed into something worthy, something at which he could be a real success. He'd never been at a place where he hadn't been bullied somewhat, and he still was amazed at it all.  
And, of course, the greatest prize was Daisy.

Who'd have thought a lunk like him would ever win over someone so sure and smart? She'd risen in her post, had prospects at a farm, and seemed totally unaware of how beautiful she was.  
Once Andy saw Daisy was 'game,' he had no reservations at all about pushing his cause. 

Of course, he still behaved himself. He knew Daisy was an honest woman. But now that they had an "understanding," he felt it reasonable to steal kisses when he could.  
Oh, how Andy Parker loved kisses. 

When Daisy's lips met his, he would almost blank out from the pure joy of it. Then her breath would give a hitch in an odd sort of way, and Andy knew she felt that fizziness, too, and he'd be both shy and proud. It was just like in the flicks, where the lovers finally come together, and he was thrilled that someone loved him enough to fit him to her life.

Andy knew he'd never really be able to understand Daisy fully; she was a mystery far beyond the likes of him, but he was close. And close was enough, because he knew he'd forever be grateful each day he got to puzzle at the wonder that was his Daisy.

The young footman wasn't the most polished when it came to courtship, but he knew enough to get down on one knee. And if his words came out in a bit of a stammer, well, that can be forgiven.  
"I'll take care of us," he promised at the end. "You don't need to worry any more about ever facing anything alone." There was a world of sincerity shining from his soft and eager eyes, then joy when she believed him and accepted.

\---  
"It was like some foolish novel," Thomas wrote to Jimmy. "And we all applauded the happy ending, though it's hard to think of such infants actually engaged."

"Well, at least she's finally over you and me," Jimmy had written back, which made Barrow chuckle. Daisy had a history of picking men who didn't want her or skittering away when they did.  
"You know she was giving you time to reconsider 'things,' but I guess you've lost your chance," Jimmy concluded. "Guess she finally gave you up. Glad she's happy. Wish her the best."  
Somehow, Thomas felt Jimmy was trying to tell him something about the two of them, but he didn't want to think too carefully about what.

 

And so another year went in the books, and with a toast, the staff looked toward a better one coming up.


	8. Chapter 8

Thank you all for the comments! I have the comment "display" mode off, but I'm reading (and re-reading) them all. I can't seem to reply in this mode....so a general THANK YOU here.....  
Who knew that "virtual" strangers could fill me with such glee!

 

\----

\----  
\----  
It was a bright January morning and Lady Mary was getting ready to go to York. Anna had already helped style her ladyship's hair and was moving about, finishing off the dressing. A spritz of French cologne filled the air.  
  
"And things downstairs," Mary asked, continued their conversation. "Are they going well?"  
"Yes, my lady, very smoothly. Everyone is quite hand in glove." Anna moved to add the jewelry.  
"Even Mr. Barrow and Mr. Bates?" the lady teased.  
"Even so, my lady," her maid said with a grin.  
"Golly, Barrow must have mellowed." 

Mary considered, then discarded a broach.

"Oh, not exactly, my lady. He almost ripped open the butcher's boy the other day when he tried to cheat Mrs. Patmore. He's still an attack dog." Anna tilted her head thoughtfully. "He's just more 'our' attack dog now."

Mary's mind had already wandered back to other things, the maid could see.  
"Any thing else, my lady?"  
"No, Anna, you may go." It felt like there was ice in Mary's heart.

\---  
Lady Mary and her mother were going to town to look at hats. Now, York hat shops were very small beer indeed to two such fine women, used to London establishments.  
However, in the last few years both Mary and Cora had decided that some substitutions could be made--discreetly, of course--and had found a milliner in York who was quite satisfactory for the purpose.  
And on a dull winter's day, such a distraction was almost mandatory.

Besides, Mary knew that the two of them should spend some time together periodically. Lady Grantham was now something of a prominent figure in the village, having helped bring the hospital into a modern, post-war setting. Mary thought she could benefit from her mother's acumen.

Then there was the fact that the two had never exactly been close since that time (oh, so long ago) when Cora had actually seen the truth of her daughter's character. Seeing reality, then applying it to Mary's subsequent machinations, had left Cora quite 'disappointed' off and on for nearly the last decade.  
It was only recently that Mary could feel her mother wasn't judging her every move.

So, it was good to go out and enjoy a day together. They would talk over hats and, perhaps, have tea in a shop. All simple fun. Something the two did so rarely.  
Lady Mary needed more of this.  
The young mother felt really quite lonely some days, in spite of being completely surrounded by people.

\----  
The snow began to fall at Downton, wiping out the morning's sun and turning the place into a fairy castle.

Downstairs in the kitchen, Mrs. Patmore began plans for Daisy's wedding.  
Daisy was like a daughter to the old lady, and she had decided her daughter would have something fine, even if it was to be small. "A small diamond is worth more than a large bit of paste," Patmore consoled herself. "And we'll all enjoy ourselves the more for being in 'selective company.'"

Daisy, herself, didn't seem to care much for the planning. Having said yes, she immediately tried to back up to 'no.' She wanted Andy, but she was afraid of having him.  
"The poor girl has never seen a good marriage up close," Mrs. Patmore confided in Mrs. Hughes on one of their tea breaks. "She knows they exist, thanks to you and Mr. Carson, plus the Bates. But you all go away of a night, and she doesn't see the workings, as it were."

"She is a mix of worldly and naive, our Daisy." Mrs. Hughes sipped and nodded. "I remember you bringing her in that first day, half starved and completely drenched. And now we've got to get our chick to leave the nest."

"Not so much leave the nest as rearrange its location," Mrs. Patmore thought as she stirred around the kitchen. She'd give Daisy all that she had, because the girl was just that dear to her heart.

\---  
The date had officially been set for Valentine's. Andy had actually been the one to suggest the date, which made all of the female staff compliment him on his choice, and say behind his back that he was far more romantic of a lad than they'd ever imagined. 

Andy told Thomas privately that he'd picked Valentine's, because he knew he'd never forget it. And the boy was well aware that Daisy might take umbrage if he couldn't remember something as basic as their wedding date--no matter how forgiving she was at his memory for history and science.

On this cold day, Andy and Thomas were playing a hand or two of cards, though the footman was still rubbish at it.  
"You know, you should come play with us when the gardener gets up a game," Andy suggested. "Really, Mr. Barrow, the group out there is much better than any of us in here, even when Mr. Bates takes a hand."

"I think I'm quite comfortable without having to resort to games with the outside staff," Barrow replied with a bit of his old arrogance. "Daisy's been hinting that second table might be blended in to luncheon with us, too. Do you both enjoy consorting with that lot? Now that you've become farmers yourself?"  
For once, Parker got a bit angry with his older friend. "It's not like we sit around with dirt on our hands or shite on our shoes," he protested. "You know, Mr. Barrow, for someone who's enjoyed country living your entire life, you don't get out into the country much."

The boy got up in a huff, leaving Thomas blinking in surprise.  
"Well, that went well," smirked Bates who was sitting near the fire.  
"Shut up, Mr. Bates," the butler snapped back. He got up and left to find Andy, not knowing what he'd say, but knowing he'd think of something. 

Staying by the heat, John Bates sat comfortably back to read his paper. It would all be settled in time, Bates knew, no longer afraid for Thomas.

\----  
Lord Grantham was also sitting by the fireplace, though his was a very large and grand affair compared to the one downstairs.  
The smoking room was one of his Lordship's favorites when he wanted a private hour. Even his sons-in-law had recognized that a morning in the smoking room was Robert's way of saying "do not disturb."

Grantham had brought several large books in with him this morning and was enjoying re-reading chapters here and there from his favorites. He smoked a rare mid-day cigar as he turned the pages, sinking into the remembered stories. 

"Life is so much simpler in fiction," he thought.  
Absently he petted Tia, who looked up at him with adoring eyes.  
"I do wish life moved as peacefully as in books."

Reluctantly, Lord Grantham gathered himself for luncheon. "I need a bite, then, perhaps, some history," he muttered, searching through the stack.  
The only immediate response was Tia's thumping tail.

\----  
In spite of the accumulating snow, Tom Branson and Henry Talbot were still at the shop.  
Tom was looking harried, as usual when he took care of business. His tie was a bit askew, and there was a distinct stain of oil on one cuff of his trousers.

Branson was in charge of the repair part of their partnership, and had grown it impressively for so short a time. When times were tight, people did tend to repair, rather than buy new. However, Tom had also had a knack for customers.  
He'd sometimes do small repairs for free, which, in turn, made people come back to their shop when it was something major. They knew they'd get a fair shake, so they didn't feel the need to go somewhere larger--even if it meant a day's wait in the village shop.

Unfortunately, Henry Talbot's part of the business wasn't fairing quite as well.  
Henry, too, had a gift with people. The man was handsome and charming and many customers came to look at the showroom vehicles.  
However, times were slow and most didn't have the cash to buy. 

Also, Talbot lacked one key ingredient to a successful salesman--follow through. Tom sometimes shook his head in dispair as he heard of a sale going to the shop in York, thanks to their more aggressive techniques.  
He'd taken to having a shop boy quietly shadow his friend, a boy whose only duty was to follow up on leads, once Talbot had charmed them through the door.

It wasn't easy being a businessman, Tom Branson reflected. But he knew how to scramble, and he'd make a go of it for the both of them. And times would surely get better soon enough.

\----  
Nanny had survived the clean up after luncheon, a long hour of read-aloud, and a game of hide and seek. Actually, hide and seek was still in play, though Nanny was not doing her part of 'seeking.'

Baby Bates and Miss Violet were both still in diapers, and from the odor Nanny could tell that an unpleasant job was at hand. She wasn't sure why the Bates' baby was part of her establishment, and she wished that it wasn't the case. ("At least it would reduce the amount of 'unpleasant jobs' by half," the woman thought.)

Getting both settled, Nanny looked around in trepidation. She knew the others were hiding, but there was a suspicious lack of noise even so. 'Hiding' still usually produced a stray giggle or two, a stirring of curtains, a knocking over of small items as locations were abandoned in boredom.  
Now there was total silence.  
This did not bode well. 

Nanny began to search in earnest through the rooms. (Why did a nursery have so many rooms? Crib room and lesson room, play room and bed rooms? It was exhausting when she let them beyond her immediate line of sight.)

At the sound of the scream, the maid carrying up tea dropped her entire tray.  
"Heaven help me!" the Nanny yelled, joined almost immediately by the wail of two infants and the cries of two youngsters. "You bloody heathen!"

The maid peered in, saw the disaster, and went for Mrs. Hughes straight.  
You see, Miss Sybbie had decided that her shoulder length hair would look much better if bobbed like that of her Aunt Mary's.  
And, of course, Master George had been happy to help his cousin, finding scissors and already well underway in cutting large chunks.  
There would be a new Nanny by tomorrow, the maid was quite certain.


	9. Chapter 9

\----  
"This is why they never used to let us 'live out,'" Mrs. Hughes announced, knocking snow off of her galoshes as she entered. She was most aggravated with herself for running late, but they'd had to break through drifts the entire way.  
The snow had piled up for three weeks straight, making the going slow for everyone, lengthening an already hectic day.

It was Valentine's, and the holiday excitement was enhanced by the event of Andy and Daisy's wedding.  
For the wedding would go on--snow or not--of that they all were sure.  
Valentine's post had been dispensed with early that morning, with the usual joking among recipients.

And though breakfast was a hurried affair, the entire downstairs staff had several hours off after that--the usual chores being done ahead as much as possible, and the family having agreed to "serve themselves" in honor of the occasion.

Mrs. Patmore had gone all out for the wedding lunch, even if it would just be in their own servants' hall.  
Savories and casseroles and tarts were done, just needing a bit of a heat up. A cake with frosting an inch thick sat in waiting.  
The delicious smell was so intoxicating that it was all anyone could do to wait.

\---  
In the attics, however, the bridegroom was currently upchucking what little he'd managed to get down.  
For Andy was well and truly terrified, as well as a massively hungover.

You see, a few days before, Mr. Mason had taken the time to try and give the boy a wee "talk" about married life. Mason cared about Daisy and wanted to make sure that everything went smoothly...which, having observed Andy, Mason was not too sure would be the case.  
What Downton had on their hands were two young people absolutely innocent of the mysteries of life.

When the footman returned to the Abbey after his 'enlightenment,' he looked so whey faced and shellshocked that Thomas inquired after his health.  
Andy pulled the both of them into the boot room and told the butler, in a round about way, that he wasn't quite sure if he could go through with the wedding after all. And it was only after several false starts and quite a bit of incoherent cursing, Thomas finally got out of the boy what had initiated the crisis.

Now, Barrow couldn't wholeheartedly argue that Andy was wrong. For Barrow, too, found the idea of what one was expected to do with a woman in bed rather unappetizing.  
"Hmmm....I believe that's why the tradition is that a groom goes out with his mates the night before and gets riproaring drunk so that he's too hungover to care the day of the wedding," Thomas finally suggested.

Unfortunately, Mr. Barrow still sometimes had the uncanny ability to make absolutely piss poor decisions on important matters. 

Since snow was piling up, the 'outing' ended up limited to the two of them in the servants' hall with Barrow bringing out a bottle of exceptionally good wine.  
It went down smoothly.

They played a rather bleary eyed game of rummy (Andy being even more rubbish at cards drunk) and opened another bottle. And maybe one (?) more.

Exaggerated stories and outright lies were shared, and when the scullery maid came downstairs to stir the fire in the morning, she woke both men up from a dead sleep.

\---  
The day of the wedding, therefore, found the groom and his mate with thick heads and furry tongues. Barrow, at least, had limited his intake (somewhat.) He'd been in a bad way with alcohol after a failed love affair some years back, and he still tried (somewhat) to keep things in control. 

So, Andy took the worst of the hit. And his retching in the lavoratory was a sign of how truly bad of an idea a groom's night out could be.  
Worse, he was still terrified.

\----  
Daisy, meanwhile, had received her "talk" from Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore.  
Since Mrs. Patmore was unmarried, and Mrs. Hughes did not find such topics suitable for easy conversation, Daisy's initiation amounted to "lie still and think of England."

In sum, the bride was still reconsidering the wisdom of her decision, and rather confused to boot.  
"If only Anna weren't so busy," she thought.

\----  
On the men's side, Bates had brought a pitcher of water and some dry toast.  
In his past, Bates had been a prodigious drinker and a mean drunk. He was, therefore, most knowledgeable with hangovers. He looked at his two colleagues and shook his head with a smile. 

"Morning, gentlemen," he commented softly. "You're going to need lots of water and a cold rag on your head as a first step. And we need to hurry, since everyone must leave together in the sleigh.  
"Roads are almost blown over, and we're going the old ways today," the valet added.

Thomas Barrow swore at his cheerful face. "There are times I still hate you, Bates."  
John Bates just softly laughed at his friends.

\----  
The main members of the wedding party were helped into the sleigh by those who were going to have to be left behind.  
With the roads so bad, walking would take far too long round trip.  
The bride and groom would ride with their witnesses then come back to rejoin their happy "guests." 

Thomas Barrow, head aching and decidedly out of sorts, volunteered to stay behind, but was not allowed to do so. He was touched by Andy's insistence. (Just because Thomas didn't want to join their outing didn't mean Thomas didn't want to be invited.)  
However, watching happy couples scamper about was one of the butler's least favorite activities. 

Would the pairing off never cease?  
Apparently not.  
For later, in the midst of the feast, an uproar came from the kitchen. "He did it! I'm finally to be a missus!" came a shriek from a familiar voice. 

Cook and kitchen maids came rushing into the servants hall in a boil of motion.  
"Elsie, he did it!" Mrs. Patmore shrieked again at her friend, then came over incoherent with a fit of tears.

Mr. Mason followed behind, coming to a stop beside the excited red head. "I'm afraid my proposal lacked the poetry of youth," he said with a cagey grin.

"Well, it was pure poetry to me," Mrs. Patmore said with watery eyes, flinging herself about his neck.

The group rose to surround them, giving congratulations. Thomas Barrow, however, backed away from the tumult.  
He stepped into the hall to compose himself and rest his aching head. "It's an Abbey. I'll be the resident monk. Problem solved," he muttered to himself. Barrow felt the rage rise in him and tamped it carefully down. "They're friendly with you now. Don't give over and mess that up over jealousy."

The young butler rubbed his weary eyes.  
Mrs. Baxter came to join him where he stood. "Mr. Barrow? Are you all right?" she said with her usual compassionate smile. "I heard you had a headache this morning. Can I get you a powder?"

"It's just the uproar, Mrs. Baxter. I'll be fine," the butler said shortly. "They'll need to get on with the luncheon if we are to stay on schedule." His tone was snappish, even to his own ears.  
"We'll give it a moment, though."

The two stood quietly together in the hall, and she leaned her shoulder slightly against his.  
The clock struck noon and Thomas startled slightly as it coughed up the hour. "It's later than I thought," he said. "We should be through with it."

\----  
Carson had come to share in the feasting and stayed to consult with Barrow on a formal dinner late the next week. The two men still occasionally worked together, though Carson had seemed to let up a bit on his 'supervision' after the funeral.  
Next week's luncheon, however, would have his Lordship and Lady Mary talking to the tenant farmers. And Carson knew that the pinches caused by the value of the pound on exports would be making all of the farmers nervous for the season ahead.

The old butler was resolute in his determination to make things go perfectly.  
Thomas, meanwhile, was just hoping to quickly gloss things over. He was tired, irritable, and thickheaded--not the best way to meet with Carson. "Get him in and out while he's still a bit 'rosy' from the celebration," Thomas thought. "Then I'll make an excuse before dinner and hide in the attic for a bit of a rest."

\---  
As the two men were in the office going over menus, Anna came to announce a visitor. The constable was at the door, the maid said with a not-too-friendly look.  
"What is it about the area police that they pay so much attention to Downton Abbey," Carson thought as with a weary sigh he motioned for Anna to let the man in.

Barrow didn't look much friendlier when Sargent Willis entered. "Who have you come for today?" the younger butler virtually snarled. "It must be a real crisis to bring you out in such weather....or were hoping to have a bite and sup with us, hearing about the wedding?"

"Thank you for the invitation," the policeman said evenly, intentionally ignoring the tone. "But we do have a bit of a crisis on our hands."  
He looked toward Carson, hoping to find a more reasonable audience. "You see, one of your employees has been found dead in town."

"What?" Carson roared. He looked toward Barrow, eyebrows drawn into a frown. "And you didn't notice anyone missing, I suppose?"

Barrow looked briefly toward the closed door, making sure of their privacy. Then he nodded the policeman toward a chair.  
This day just got longer.  
"Who was it?" Thomas asked. "We've just had everyone in, and I didn't see a missing chair. Though it was busy with people milling about."

"Your head gardener," the constable replied. "I believe he was mainly at the Dower House, overseeing the winter garden there, but he's the Abbey's, too, if I understand correctly."

"Rigby?" Carson interjected. "Why I just saw him last week in the village and talked to him about whether the ice would harm her ladyship's prize roses."  
"Yes, Rigby," the constable agreed. "He was murdered, I'm afraid. Murdered most foully."

"Well isn't that just the topping on the cake?" Thomas Barrow thought, his head again beginning to split. 

"We can't catch a bloody break."


	10. Chapter 10

I set myself the goal of writing an hour each morning. (Two this morning, but I blame Google for actually having 1927 copies of the Radio Times.) I think tomorrow's time might be staring blankly at the screen.  
Many apologies for being SUCH a beginner....what was I thinking to throw in a murder? Well, it is DA, so I thought the police had to show up *some time.* sigh.  
Anyway, now I need some tea.  
\----  
\----

 

Charles Carson knew the inspector wasn't to be trusted with an investigation, so his first step was to go to the "scene of the crime," as it were. Staff would soon have to clean it, and any hope of clues would be lost.

Today, however, a chance remained to gather some information with the police still in residence. "And hurry things along to a conclusion," the butler thought with no small bit of irritation. "To think of them allowing the Family to suffer such ignominy."

Mr. Carson entered the Dower House by the rear door, taking in stray details and nodding approval with every step. The place smelled of beeswax and cinnamon. Windows were spotless. Silver held a soft glow. 

The constable was still wandering about, doing very little in Carson's estimation.  
The butler was offended to see that he carried one of the Dowager's prize figurines. "Can I be of assistance?" Mr. Carson asked with a frigid glare.  
"Perhaps," Willis hesitated. "Perhaps....given that you know the family so well."

" The decedent--er, the gardener--was just inside the door, here, and the maid found him immediately upon entering. At first she thought him dead, but her shrieks brought him around one last time."  
"'The Dowager's fare is Norman,' was all he said."  
Willis gave the butler an expectant look, but Carson kept his thoughts to himself, his expression neutral.  
The constable's face fell.

"Anyway, the maid ran to the front room and called for help, though the operator said she was almost incoherent.  
"Dr. Clarkson came straight away, then I did, but there was nothing to be done for the poor man but cart him away." Willis fiddled with the bibelot before putting it down. 

"Of course I locked the place down tight," the man concluded. "I knew that a thorough investigation would have to take place." 

He shifted defensively from one foot to the other as Charles Carson began a slow prowl 'round, ending at the window. It was dripping wet outside, and the mulch had not been recently raked.  
"Hmmm....." Carson responded.  
Willis couldn't help himself. "What are you thinking, Mr. Carson?" 

"Well, I notice that the path out the side has been disturbed," the old butler replied. " I'm assuming the assassin must have come in and out that same way, or else Mrs. Denker would have seen the door ajar and known something was up before entering."  
"Yes, yes, exactly my thoughts," murmured the policeman, trying to look agreeable.

"Have your men looked for footprints, then?" Carson rumbled. At the constable's negative headshake, the butler lifted angry eyebrows. "Really, sir, and you call yourself his Majesty's law? Do get on with things."

Carson walked away in a huff, intent on solving the mystery himself. "Incompetence," he muttered. "Thought Bates was a murderer, trumped it by accusing Mrs. Bates, and now wanders about like some lost ninny." 

"I shall go consult with Elsie," the old man decided, nodding to himself.  
"She has some sense and might shed some light on what the man's last words could mean--- though at first blush they seem like nonsense."

On his way from the room, Carson stopped to brush a smudge of soot from the expensive oriental rug, and to pick up a tiny shard of glass. He turned to see if he should give it to the constable, but the man had already fled.  
"Really most aggravating," the old butler rumbled.

\---  
Mrs. Hughes had come home from Downton, intending to spend her half day with her husband.  
She was surprised, but not alarmed, to find him gone.

It would be a good chance to listen to the radio until his return. While Charlie was a bit of a luddite about modern inventions, Elsie Hughes knew a good thing when one came down the road. 

Radios were still rather expensive, and apt to blow a tube every so often, but the broadcasts opened up a world beyond the village and brought it right to her hearth. It was quite the miracle and well worth spending some of her savings to have. (Though, oh what a tiff she'd had over that decision!)

A song recital by John Van Zyl (bass) was the current offering, and the housekeeper turned it up high to hear over the static, adjusting musicola speakers just so. "'Mother Carey,'" she nodded. "Really quite lovely."

Settling to wait, she flipped through her "Radio Times," looking at the "Unseen Congregation" by someone named Sir Arthur Yapp. ("Yes, he certainly does yap.") And she marked the calendar mid-March for a national concert at Albert Hall. ("Oh, my, even Charlie will approve of that.")

"There is just so much good in a world that invents a wonder such as the wireless," Elsie thought.  
The cold of February faded away as she sat and listened and waited.

\----  
At Mrs. Patmore's bed and breakfast, things were in a bit of a stir. The owner, herself, was not currently in residence, having a rather busy schedule at her "day job," Downton Abbey. 

So one of her many nieces was manning the pump. 

Annie Philpotts had not intended running a B&B to become her life's work. But she was an agreeable sort of lass, the middle child of twelve in a rather riotous branch of the Philpotts clan.  
Mrs. Patmore had "employed" one neice or another (at meager wage) since she'd bought the place. And of them all, Annie was working out the best, having replaced her sister Lucy just this month.

But she still had dreams, did Annie, and she used every spare minute of every spare day to scribble down her stories and the stories of guests or passersby. For Annie Philpotts wanted to become an author. 

Earlier this morning, a mysterious gentleman had come to the B&B.  
Now Lucy had warned her about mysterious visitors, but nothing seemed morally amiss about this man. What made him mysterious was his fine clothes and London accent. Almost seemed really, truly one of the elite.

Annie spent her luncheon time writing up a story, in which she fashioned this man a long lost Crawley relative, recently released from amnesia, come to take his rightful place among the family fold. 

A crash interrupted the author's pleasant interlude and stopped her flow of words.  
"It'll be that cow faced Billy Carper, come to deliver coal and gawp at me," muttered Annie Philpotts, stomping to the back. "Blast that man! Why is he bashing around so? It's worse than ever!

"Even auntie gets romance, and I get some four-eyed stump with black on his face and no more prospects than a room above the postal."  
Annie's face flushed red as her hair.  
Just another Village day.

\----  
"Andy said you might be interested," Joe Miller, the gameskeeper, concluded.  
The man stood at the door with his hat off, turning it restlessly in his hands. Used to the outdoors, the room felt too small to him--stifling really. How did the butler cope with such surroundings day in, day out?

"But I'm not sure why it would be important," Mr. Barrow drawled.  
Thomas wore the same impassive mask that he'd perfected over the years. While the upper staff might see him relax, he'd certainly not do so for some rangey sprout who'd shouldered his way indoors on the slimmest of excuses, even if said shoulders were rather nicely made. 

"I know the dowager collected things--many things," the butler continued. "But I don't see why a bunch of flowers might be the key to any murder. And I'm not sure it's to the Crawley's best interest to suggest that the gardener was on the take. Maybe someone else gave them to her."

"I'm not....Look, Andy just thought you should know that I'd seen a rather rare looking orchid on the counter at Lesley Wigan's, and Rigby had similar ones in the Winter Garden. Either or both details may mean something. Either or both may not. I'm not drawing conclusions," Joe finished with no small impatience. 

He'd heard that Barrow was a bastard, had seen indications himself over the years, which was why he'd steered clear. "Just a pretty face and a bully's attitude," Miller thought, his green eyes narrowed.  
"And now I see you're busy, so I'll get back to my work. Do with my observations what you will." 

Mr. Barrow nodded curtly. "Well, thank you then. I'm sorry that Andy encouraged you on a fool's errand, but I should appreciate that you made the effort the help, I suppose."  
Barrow turned his back as the man left, keeping his face a blank.

\----  
Upstairs, Lady Mary was in a tear.  
"A dead man in Granny's sitting room and they're just drawing things out?" she snapped. Her family was gathered, sipping tea as blithely as usual. "The papers are already jumping on this, and we've got to get it buried before we get buried in the scandal."

"Now, Mary," her father began soothingly, "It's not like we haven't weathered much worse before.  
"And it's Rigby we must get buried," Robert tried for levity. "Poor man had no family, so it's up to us to fill the breach."

Mary rolled her eyes and turned to Tom. "Have you heard anything, Tom? Has the inspector been by or people talking in the pub? You and Henry have surely been in there, I know."  
The two men, standing together by the fireplace, grinned at one another. The body was barely cold, and Mary expected answers.

"We've had our lunch there, true, but the murderer hasn't exactly come up to us and spilled the beans," Tom Branson said. "We did see Mr. Moseley, and he was sporting a truly glorious shiner, apparently gained while in the yard with his students. Do you think we should turn him in as a suspicious character?"

"Maybe he got it in the death struggle," Henry seconded, building on his friend's joke.

"Really, boys, I'm surprised at you, so cavalier about a poor man's death. And, of course, Moseley would never," Lady Grantham let her voice trail off, but her intent at admonishing Tom and Henry found its mark.

"I'm sorry, Cora. We'll behave," said Henry, green eyes twinkling with charm.

"And I did see Mr. Carson," added Tom. "He seemed to be making the rounds and trying to move things along."

At that news, Mary smiled grimly. "Thank heavens Someone is doing Something," she said. "And if it's Carson, maybe there's hope it will be set right."

"Of course it will, darling. And now, let's talk on something more pleasant, shall we?" her mother interjected, adroitly steering the conversation to safer waters. "What do we hear from Edith?"

Mary rolled her eyes so hard it hurt.


	11. Chapter 11

At the Abbey, the servants sat for supper, glad to finally have a rest.  
Joseph Moseley was among the gathering.  
When Moseley first decided to go teach school, he'd been nervous about severing contact with his friends at the big house. So he'd offered to come serve as footman as needed. With the tenant luncheon the next day, Joseph was there to freshen up his livery and make sure he was up to speed on what Mr. Barrow might expect. 

 

Mrs. Baxter was aglow.

"Are you enjoying the term so far, Mr. Moseley?" she asked. "What do you have to say of your students?"  
A great deal, apparently, for Joseph began to ramble on in the way happy teachers do about 'their' children. 

"I'm a little worried about Jenny, though," he said a few stories later. "She was so good in the Christmas pageant, and fine on exams. But now she's been out for a week, and I don't know why.  
"Her father got quite nasty with me when I tried to check. Quite nasty, indeed." (Joseph earned a 'shiner' on that trip, not in some bit of sport as reported 'round, and he unconsciously rubbed at his aching eye.)

 

Mrs. Baxter nodded, her eyes sympathetic and knowing. Her father was a cruel man, so cruel in fact that Thomas's father seemed kind by comparison. Often she'd run to the Barrow household to hide in her friend Margaret's room when her father was on a binge. 

Baxter's first thought was that maybe Jenny's father might be the same. But she was sure if that was the case, Moseley would find a way to help.  
For with Joseph Moseley by her side, Phyllis Baxter felt strong. And she knew him to be strong and helpful to everyone around him.

Mrs. Baxter patted his arm and said simply, "I'm quite sure you'll get to the bottom of it and help her, Mr. Moseley." Then she smiled and gave him an admiring look that turned the man quite red.

 

\---  
Up table, Andy Parker was still making his displeasure known to his friend Mr. Barrow.  
For even though Thomas was his boss, Andy was not afraid of him. The boy would never be rude, of course, since he knew Barrow took things too much to heart. But he was not about to let him off the hook for treating Joe Miller so coldly.

"Yes, I told him to come in and see you," Andy said with exasperation. "Don't you see? If the gardener gave her flowers, then a jealous boyfriend might have bonked him over the head. Or maybe the lady stole the flowers and killed him in the theft."

 

"Oh, right, that I can see," jeered Thomas. "Our lady postmistress coming behind him, shovel sweeping upwards as she makes the fatal blow." He smirked. "Really, Andy."

"Whatever," the boy replied. "You should still tell the inspector. Or at least Mr. Carson. It might be something, you know. And at any rate, you could have been nicer to Joe, couldn't you? He's a good card player and a nice fellow."

 

"I'll tell Carson tomorrow when he comes for the luncheon. I'm not inviting an extra conversation, even by phone. And I'm not falling in with your band of rowdies," Thomas concluded, voice final.

 

"Is something wrong?" Mr. Moseley asked, noticing the sharpish tone between the two men.  
"Nothing to concern yourself with, Mr. Moseley," Mr. Barrow replied. "Now let me tell you about the order of business for tomorrow." And with that the conversation turned.

 

\----  
By Sunday, all was ready for the gathering.  
The tenant farmers gathered for luncheon once a year, more often if a problem arose. 

Lady Mary sat center table at such affairs, both as befitted a Crawley and the estate agent.  
She now knew these men quite well. She'd discussed crops and done research. Mary was no longer the tentative young widow of days gone by. 

 

This year's special problem was the low price of exports, which trickled down to what her tenants could get for their surplus. It was a knotty problem and, even though it was only the end of February, they needed to strategize any changes that might place them in a better position by year's end.

Lord Grantham, Lady Mary, and Tom Branson all had ideas, but now they listened to the ideas from the men who best knew their land. It was a lively luncheon, lively and long.

 

\---  
Afterwards, Carson was most keen to nip out the door. For once, his mind was not on matters at the big house, and it had been all the old butler could do to keep his proper demeanor when the luncheon dragged.

He was fully in investigative mode.  
All he lacked was a deerstalker hat and a pipe--both of which Mrs. Hughes had jokingly said would make him look quite dashing.

 

Barrow had added an interesting note earlier. So interesting that the old butler had for once given him praise.  
Flowers? Hmmm....

But who was 'fair Norman'?  
The gardener's dying words rankled at the back of Mr. Carson's mind. (He did, indeed, hope that the gardener hadn't been one of Mr. Barrow's 'sort.' At least if Mrs. Wigan was somehow involved, the chance of that declined, didn't it?)

And then there was the glass, and the inspector's cast of footprints that finally came back. It was still a puzzle how the pieces fit.  
But he would solve it, oh yes he would. And he'd do it quickly before that incompetent constable dragged the family through any more of a mess.

 

Putting on his bowler hat, Charles Carson strode down the road home.  
One of the many things Carson had learned as butler at Downton Abbey was that patience usually netted success. Sometimes a problem would simply go away. And other times, patience gave one information as people let their guard slip and revealed their true nature.


	12. Chapter 12

Spring came in with a roar, so chill and damp that the householders in Downton Village claimed that it was a ploy by the government to sell more coal.  
Thomas Barrow pulled his greatcoat closer up around his shoulders, and his hat further down upon his head. He had errands to run.

The village remained very much as always, but Barrow's sharp eye noted signs of decline along the edges. He wondered if the Crawleys would notice the change. True, Lady Mary was more in tune with regular people than her father, but these changes were subtle and the clerks were doing their best to make customers welcome.  
The last shopkeeper was almost obsequious, he was so desperate to make the sale. 

The London investor had come and gone, so at least they had a plan now for finishing the addition to Pip's Corner. Fresh houses would help, and so would the jobs such building would bring.

\---  
Tasks done and parcels in hand, Thomas felt his steps speed up as he crossed the square.  
The young man shivered and squared his shoulders. It wasn't that he was superstitious. The graveyard held no fear for him, and, indeed, sometimes he'd go there to have a smoke, sitting close by the grave of a friend. 

But the Memorial, now, THAT had the ability to bother Thomas--more so now that when it first came to be constructed. Therefore, a simple cut across the square could unsettle him.  
Perhaps he should go the long way round?  
"Soppy old man," he muttered to himself. "Get along with you, now."

Just to the side, he could see the figure of Beryl Patmore, coming out of the church and stopping by her nephew's stone.  
Archie Philpotts had been frightened and ran. Thomas could certainly understand that; he had been frightened enough to hold up his hand for shooting.  
Coming abreast, he nodded to the cook. 

"Good morning, Mr. Barrow," she said politely.  
"Well, we'll see about that," he answered with a smirk. 

"I take it you've dropped off the Abbey's contribution to the church bazaar."

She nodded absently, still looking more toward Archie's marker than the butler.  
"Sometimes it seems people are so busy surviving that they've already forgotten about the war," Thomas prompted, for lack of anything better to say. Barrow knew he'd never forget the horror of it all. (A friend shot square through the head in the space of a sentence. The mud. The bugs. The terror.)

But the townspeople didn't talk much about the Great War any more, at least except for the annual gathering. (The screaming. The gangrene. The cold.)

Mrs. Patmore turned her attention to him fully. "They've not forgotten. People still mourn. I still do, at any rate, and if you had a heart, you would, too." Her tone was harsher than she meant it to be.

Barrow huffed out an exasperated breath. "I didn't mean to pick at you, Mrs. Patmore. I'm not saying YOU've forgotten or I've forgotten either, though I might not wear it on my sleeve.  
"And I'll tell you this again, I'm glad your Archie has his marker." He stopped there, not wanting to delve deeper into matters of emotion, even if it got him in the cook's good graces.

Silly old woman.  
They fell in step and walked along in silence for a while. 

"He was a good boy, our Archie," Mrs. Patmore said quietly, her voice cracking slightly on the name. "They were all good boys, and I suppose you were a good boy, too."  
The unexpected kindness threw him, and he had to watch his suddenly clumsy feet to not trip over a root in the path.

Mrs. Patmore shook her head in resignation. "I shouldn't have said that about you, Mr. Barrow. And for that I'll apologize. It's just that sometimes there's still something sly about you, something covert.  
"And I do know what made you become that way," the old woman rushed on. "And we'll not go into THAT.  
"But I value honesty, Mr. Barrow. So if I run hot and cold on you sometimes, it's because sometimes I feel you're being an honest man and sometimes I feel you're not."

Thomas face became a mask. He could feel his jaw clench at holding in the hot words he'd like to throw at her in reply.  
He took a long breath. (She called you a 'good boy.') And he considered the criticism.

"I guess we all have something to work on about ourselves, then," he finally said in a mild tone. ("You wouldn't want my full honesty," he thought.)  
And they walked on together home.

\---  
Back in the village Carson had stopped for breakfast at the B & B.  
While the Carsons were planning on renting out a portion of their own cottage upon Mrs. Hughes' eventual retirement, for now they were merely 'exploring options.' 

So sitting at Beryl's going concern was a learning experience. It was also part of his continued quest to listen for information on the gardener's murder.

Annie Philpotts had breakfast out in short order, piping hot. She served each person what they asked, then circled back to take care of their needs.  
Carson was impressed. They would need someone much like Annie when they opened, he realized. 

While enjoying the food and carefully taking notes, Carson was interrupted by the rattle of the coal man.  
Annie turned red and looked as though she was about to commit murder. "May I be of assistance?" Carson asked neutrally.

"It's that idjit Billy Carper," the girl said with a gusty sigh. "He's loud, and clumsy, and tries to make time with every woman on his route."  
"That's outrageous," Carson said, truly appalled. "Shouldn't you all tell his employer?"

The girl snorted inelegantly. "First, his employer doesn't care. Second, Billy works for so little, he's barely employed at all. He couldn't even get a new pair of specs when his broke. That's why he's making extra racket banging round the shoot."

Carson's head snapped up. "Ah hah!" he said. There were a few facts to sort first, but he was sure in Billy Carper, he could fit together all the puzzle pieces.


	13. Chapter 13

The next evening, it was "the butler in the library with an orchid."

The Crawley family and Sargent Willis gathered round as Carson held center stage. Barrow and Parker served drinks, blending in but listening as all good servants do. 

"It was the glass that did it. The inspector missed a shard of glass on the rug," here Mr. Carson gave such a glare to the inspector that the man turned quite red and started to sputter.   
"No, no excuses, you missed the clue that the assassin wore spectacles and that those spectacles became broken in a struggle," Carson lectured, his eyebrows gathered fearsomely, his mouth a firm straight line.

"But there are more than a few men with specs in the village," Isobel protested. "Why do you think Billy Carper is the one?"

Carson smiled suavely. "It was more than the glass, Lady Merton. There was coal soot on the rug nearby, just a smudge, left behind when the killer picked the glasses up. He'd automatically wiped his feet on the way in, but not washed his hands." 

The old butler raised a finger as Willis started another protest. "Yes, I know more than the coal man might have a bit of coal soot about them, but Billy Carper had another connection to the crime.

"He lives above the post office, in a little room Mrs. Wigan rents out. And he's very friendly with the women of the village--too much so." Here, Carson couldn't help but wrinkle his nose. He was offended both by Carper's ungentlemanly conduct and by the idea that any man would be attracted to the postmistress. (Milk before tea. Odious, bossy creature.)

"I did check to make sure, and Mrs. Wigan admitted that Billy gave her an orchid Valentine's morning. She put down his nerves to giving a woman a gift, but we know now that he'd been in a scuffle over the plant--which he'd tried to take by force."  
Sargent Willis looked gobsmacked.

But Tom Branson just looked puzzled. "Wouldn't he have run, knowing the gardener was dead? Surely he wouldn't be stopping to pass along flowers or finish his coal deliveries?"  
  
"When I interviewed the man, I found out he hadn't known the gardener was dead. He hadn't even known he was much injured. Billy had arranged with Rigby to get some flowers....paid some cash, I'm sorry to say. Rigby only protested when the man tried to sneak off with an orchid that was a favorite of the Dowager's.

"The scuffle was brief, with Rigby going down and Carper fleeing. The coalman stopped only long enough to pick up his spectacles."

"And after that, the wretch was probably certain he'd be safe. No one had him linked to the crime," Lord Grantham nodded.  
"Not to mention being poor and with limited sight," Mary drawled. "But, Carson, you said Mrs. Hughes had explained the gardener's dying words?"

"Yes, my lady. When I mentioned the orchid, Mrs. Hughes was able to tell me that it was called phaius norman, which Denker misheard as 'fair norman.' Rigby was apparently still thinking to save the stolen plant."  
"So everyone named Norman can now stand down," Tom laughed, casting an amused look at the inspector.

"And the inspector can take the coal man into custody," Lord Grantham agreed. "I assume you've got him handily near by with his confession written up so that we can make short work of this?"  
"Of course, my lord," Carson rumbled, inclining his head slightly.

To Sargent Willis he gave another glare. "If you would just follow me down, constable."  
And the men left the others to enjoy their drinks and congratulations on a mystery solved.

\-----  
\----  
\------  
\------  
Mr. Carson had no sooner escorted the police out-- leaving staff in a somewhat dazed sense of night time peace-- than a great pounding came at the door.

Mr. Barrow, who had taken to the comfort of his favorite rocker, snapped the newspaper in exasperation and motioned for Andy to go see who it was.  
"Tell whoever it is that we're closed for the night. And no more police, either," he called after the boy. ("Feels more like Paddington Station than Downton," he thought.)

Andy went and came back quickly enough, but his return was tentative.  
Behind him, half hidden by the wall and the gloom of the hallway, was the figure of a man.  
Short, rumpled, with curls blown this way and that. 

Thomas felt his heart skip a tiny beat.  
Even without fully seeing, he knew who it was. And he tried to calm his breathing, feeling like a fool as the flush reached his pale cheeks. "Jimmy?" he said, rising from the chair.  
"At your service," his friend replied, coming more fully into the light.  
Jimmy Kent looked both horribly bad and completely wonderful to his friend.

 

\----  
Andy gave the stranger a wide-eyed look then, having heard tales of James Kent back when he was starting at the Abbey.  
Meanwhile Thomas was still trying to get his head around it. "What are you doing here? You didn't say you'd be coming."  
"Oh, Lord, here's trouble," exclaimed Mrs. Patmore, coming from the kitchen where she and Daisy were finishing up.

The voices lapped over one another in greeting.

Jimmy took a few dragging steps into the room, half dropping with fatigue. But his smile was bright.  
"Perhaps we should let the man take a seat and get him some tea," suggested Barrow, regaining control. "Mrs. Patmore, get Daisy to stir up the fire and pull something together before she goes."  
The group shifted and stirred. Jimmy sat to the side of Thomas Barrow's rocker, his usual chair in days gone by. 

Gathering himself, Thomas teased his friend, "Jimmy, you look like something the cat dragged in. If you'd told us you were coming, we'd have sent a car so you didn't have to hike through a patch of brambles....or whatever it is you've been into."  
The pugnacious blonde smiled slightly, relaxing back into the seat and taking the tea Daisy brought.

"Well, it was quite a trip, as you can see. I'll tell you all about it later, just let me have a sip. I'll go down to the pub and visit you proper tomorrow, but I couldn't resist a hello tonight."  
Thomas took the hint. "I think we can spare a room here, at least for a night or two. It's not like we're crowded."  
Jimmy sighed in thanks.

\---  
"His lips look pale," Thomas thought, not quite able to stop staring. "His skin is, too, beneath the tan. And that's a nasty cut over his eye."  
"I think you might need some medical care, there, though we won't want to call old Clarkson in tonight."  
To Jimmy's confused look, Thomas continued. "You're bleeding, you git, the cut above your eye?"

"Oh, that," said Jimmy comfortably, raising his hand to it and looking surprised that it came back wet. "It's nothing, really--a couple of days old. I'm a warrior, me."

"Still, I'll do a bit of plastering, yes?   
"But first I'll duck out and scavenge some linens and such. Sit there and rest 'til I get back," and Thomas left the room, realizing that he was running off at the mouth in nervousness.

\---  
Upstairs and changed into clean night things, Jimmy looked quite vulnerable.

"That mess of yours won't hurt, will it Thomas? I'm not much of one for pain." 

"It's just a bit of salve and some bandages, not stitches," Thomas scoffed, though he began with shaking hands. The menthol would sting, he knew, but it would help after. "Stop fidgeting about," he warned the younger man. 

As Jimmy moved, he winced, and Barrow realized there was more at hand than a mere cut. Without thinking, he pulled open the neck of the sleep shirt a bit more.  
A bruise bloomed in riotous color over Jimmy's shoulder and chest.

"You should have seen the other guy," Jimmy said, hand coming up to pull the shirt closed.  
"Hmf," Thomas huffed, going back to finish the bandaging of his forehead--wrapping it smoothly and tucking the ends with care. "Quite dashing. Leave it on for a day or so and the ladies will flock."

Jimmy hissed in pain. "I don't mean to hurt you," said Thomas in a low voice.  
"You never would," Jimmy said.

The men sat a moment in comfortable silence as Thomas gathered back the supplies.  
"There's a story, I'm sure, but tonight you should just rest," he said finally. And though he didn't want to, Thomas rose and left.

\----  
Outside in the hall, Mr. Barrow was surprised to see Andy.  
"I thought you'd left," the butler said.  
Andy gave his usual amiable grin. "Daisy said we could dally a bit to make sure things were right. In case you needed us, you know."  
"Do you? Need anything?"

Thomas felt his shoulder sag slightly. "That's very kind of you, Andy. Very kind, indeed. But Jimmy is cleaned up and fine."

"You, Thomas. Do YOU need anything, though, before we leave?"  
The boy reached a hand out and briefly clasped the other man's arm.  
The two friends shared a look. "I'm fine, too, Andy. I'll follow you down and lock up."


	14. Chapter 14

 

Thomas was up shaving even before the hallboy's knock-- 'up' because he'd never really been to sleep.  
Expecting everyone else was still in bed, the butler dressed quietly and went softly through the hall.

It was dark as pitch in the stairwell, but a warm light and the smell of sweetrolls spilled from the kitchen. Evidently, Daisy Parker had decided to make an early start as well, though the banging of pots suggested she might not be in the best of moods.  
Mr. Barrow just stood there, silently, not knowing what to say.

 

"Did you sleep at all?" Daisy began somewhat waspishly, though she softened it by pouring him a cup of tea with ginger biscuits. "You'll get those smudges 'neath your eyes again. Almost looked like a haunt, you did."  
  
Thomas felt his mouth turn up in spite of himself. "Usually it's the Mrs. Patmore chewing my arse." He nodded his thanks for the tea.

 

"She'll be here in a bit to help with the job."  
Daisy moved around him, grabbing this and stirring that, until finally she couldn't keep it inside any more.  
Putting a work-calloused hand on his arm, she blurted out, "I don't mean to be cheeky, Mr. Barrow, really I don't, and I know you and Jimmy are mates and all, but.....how could Jimmy even show his face around here?"

Thomas's eyebrow rose and he gave her a questioning look.

 

"Did Jimmy even come when you were hurt?" Daisy rattled on, making her point. "Or just now when it's him that needs?"

"That's not fair," said Thomas. "He didn't know."  
"Well, he should've done," she said firmly, moving herself away to work, "but I'll play nice since it's for you....Thomas.  
"Now get on with you." And with a shooing motion, sentiment was pushed aside to make way for work.

\---

Barrow took his teacup to his office, hoping to get a jump, and leave time later to ask permission for his wayward visitor to stay. Unfortunately, as much as he tried to add up figures or sort through papers, his mind kept straying.

 

About an hour later, Mrs. Hughes came through with the linen inventories. Thomas could tell at a glance she'd already heard about Jimmy's visit in spite of having left earlier with Mr. Carson and the police.  
"I don't know what's the matter, and I know he shouldn't have just come, Mrs. Hughes," Barrow began defensively. "But he's hurt and something's wrong."  
"I need your help." This last was brought out hesitantly, since Thomas Barrow hated to ask favors from anyone.

But Mrs. Hughes had always been kind, and for Jimmy Kent he'd beg. 

 

Elsie tutted briefly. "If he's here and he's hurt, there's nothing else for it. I'll mention it to her ladyship, that's best done. We can't hide him, but we can keep from pushing him in his lordship's face."

Mr. Barrow looked up sharply. Of course. She'd know from Carson.  
"Just be careful, Thomas," the older lady said, and with that she left the office.

 

"Two for two," Thomas thought. James Kent's charms were not working with everyone these days.  
But he couldn't worry about that now, since he had another full day of work in front of him. The tasks didn't slow down just because he was having a shock.

And it was a terror of a morning, with deliveries gone wrong and a maid flat out quitting. (Without notice! The world was gone crazy!)  
The butler had reached his limit by late midmorning when he finally had a chance for a break.

 

\---  
Thomas was out in the yard smoking when Jimmy finally caught up to him. The butler felt his stomach tighten at the other man's smile.

"Rest well, sleeping beauty?" He smirked to cover his stare.

 

Jimmy's hair was longer than it had been as a footman and gold as honey in the sun. He still looked incredibly young, but the innocence was gone from his eyes.  
The bandage lent him a rakish look. And he held himself with his chest a bit puffed out, as though trying to appear bigger and tougher than he ever could be.

"Have an extra one of those?" Jimmy said, mooching a cigarette with practiced ease. 

 

And as they talked, Thomas stopped seeing the differences.  
To him, it was the same Jimmy of years past, trying to make Thomas laugh and occasionally succeeding. (More now, that Thomas was somewhat in the habit.)  
His cornflower eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned, and Thomas caught the scent of inexpensive cologne and musk.

They fell back together as though they'd never been apart. 

\---  
Thomas hated to break the spell, but finally did.  
"So what is it, then?" Thomas asked finally. "You didn't just pop in on a lark after all this time." His eyes were full of concern.  
("No one else ever looks at me that way," Jimmy thought. "Mr. Barrow still cares, he does.")

 

"It wasn't that I didn't try to fight my corner," Jimmy said with as much pride as he could muster.  
"Literally," Thomas drawled.  
"What? Oh, yes," the younger man looked somewhat sheepish. "Yes, I took my beating like a right proper man this time. But what I meant was that I didn't come running to beg first off."

 

Here he paused and toed the dirt a bit, bravado failing. He gestured to his injuries.  
"This was just an installment, and I can't have them breaking my hands over a silly disagreement. My hands are m' living." Jimmy reached into his jacket and pulled out a letter which he passed to his friend. "I've got to square it with them, so I can get back to work."

 

Thomas Barrow took a moment to scan the document.  
"We'll figure out a fix, Jimmy, and you'll be safe until then." Barrow smiled. And the two men went inside together.


	15. Chapter 15

It was odd to go back to work with Jimmy at Downton. It felt like old times, but it didn't.  
Jimmy Kent was no longer in his livery and Mr. Barrow had a house to run.  
But at least the card games became more interesting.

Kent had immediately jumped on Andy's suggestion to join the outside staff. "More pigeons to pluck," he'd muttered to Thomas in a snide voice. Jimmy wanted to parlay his lump of cash into something more.

 

But Andy's other friends were not all easy marks, and winnings-wise Jimmy came out about even. ("Good. He'll stay," Thomas thought.)  
Still, it had been pleasant and the three walked back up to the big house with a carefree step.  
Jimmy was soon a length ahead, swaggering with the influence of too much drink.

 

"So you like them then, after all," Andy said when they were far enough alone. His voice held a trace of glee.  
"Who? Liked that rough lot?" Mr. Barrow returned.  
"My friends with mud on their shoes. You liked them....especially Joe." Andy gave Mr. Barrow one of his most sincere looks. "He's smart and good at cards, our Joe." 

"You're an odd child, Andy. I don't understand what you're on about." 

 

But Thomas suddenly had an inkling as Parker's face became red.  
The butler stopped short and stared. "Andy Parker. You never."  
"Tell me you never thought to matchmake me." Thomas Barrowed glared at the boy with such intensity that Andy felt he'd burn up on the spot. 

 

The footman looked entirely embarrassed, but soldiered on. "Well, you somehow gave Daisy the push, and one good turn deserves another, you know.  
"It's not like we have many men locally who are of your...preference....at least not that I could figure out. And I'm sure you do well enough, but Joe is a nice lad and one of us...." Here Andy petered off, worried he'd pushed too far.

 

Thomas was still rooted to the spot, amazed at the audacity of youth. But he couldn't find it in him to sustain the flare of rage--they had held each other's secrets, he and Andy.  
"I was trying to be a friend to you, Thomas, but I didn't actually say anything to him, if that's what has you worried," Andy mumbled. "And I didn't know this Jimmy of yours would show up out of the blue, now did I?"

 

The butler took a deep breath. Some distance ahead of them, Jimmy drunkenly called out to hurry up.

 

"You are a trying sort of lad, Andrew Parker" Thomas finally managed. "And I'll do my own fishing, thank you very much."  
There was a long pause and a sigh, "But I won't be angry you thought of me. Just don't be meddling any more, hear?"  
"Right you are, Mr. Barrow," Andy replied. 

"And Jimmy is just a friend, not a 'fish.'" 

"As you say, Mr. Barrow," came the (perhaps) serious rejoinder.

 

The two started walking again, and after a moment, Thomas gave a faint chuckle.  
"Shit, Andy." (How can you kick a puppy?) "Bloody. Fucking. Hell."  
And his relieved friend joined in the laughter, as they hurried to catch up to Jimmy.

\-----

Of course, Mr. Barrow's attention was on the visitor, not some random man of Andy's. (Could he think of it that way? That all the local 'men-of-that-type' were on some list in Andy's hip pocket?)  
It was Jimmy that still had his attention, even though he reminded himself (continually) that Jimmy could never be more than a friend. 

 

Thomas especially loved it when Jimmy played the piano of an evening.  
They'd been without music for a while, and it was amazing how much everyone had missed it.  
Mrs. Baxter and Anna, especially, enjoyed Jimmy's show, and asked for popular songs they'd heard. 

Jimmy's expertise, however, was in rag; he had a real feel for any kind of jazz, and he was a natural musician not a trained one.

 

Eventually each evening, the others would leave either to go home or to go to bed. And it would be Thomas and Jimmy again, sitting up late together.  
Jimmy would be at the piano or shuffling cards.  
Thomas would be half reading and half listening or talking a bit.

In some way, this trip of Jimmy's was recreating that lost time before Jimmy had been fired. 

 

"You know, Jimmy, I've always felt part responsible for what happened to you that night," the older man said one night when it was heavy on his mind.  
"I should've found some way to warn you first."

Kent just made a dismissive sound and kept playing a run over and over. "Don't be daft, Thomas. My mistake was ever letting Lady Ansthruther get the best of me. I was stupid, and I've regretted it."  
Jimmy turned around on the stool. "Anyway, it isn't all bad. I love London--until this recent bump. You'd love it, too, you know. You're the type for big cities. Always saying New York's 'interesting' and London 'fun.'"

 

Thomas considered it, lazily watching the smoke from Jimmy's cigarette rise. "Too late now, of course. No jobs in service and I'm over the hill.  
"But my first job was in London. Back right after my dad threw me out. I yelled. He yelled. And the next thing you know I'm buying a one way to the city with my last pocket money.  
"Bad job, that. As soon as I saved enough, I turned in notice and hoofed it here. Guess I'm not the adventurer you think."

 

Jimmy grinned. "Over the hill, eh? Shall I call you Uncle Thomas and knit you a shawl?"  
He turned back and played a bit uptempo. "Shake your heels, gramps."

Thomas smiled, again. "Careful on, now, or I'll bust your chops."  
" Instead of me moving there, you should move here. You'd get a job soon enough in a pub or picture house."

 

"Fair point," Jimmy conceded. But he had no intention of changing what he wanted to do, and Thomas knew it.  
Thomas's feelings were romantic, and foolish, and utterly unrealistic--as they'd always been. He should stop.  
Yet here he was again, as though only an hour had passed, not years. The fire crackled and the lights burned dim.

 

"Do you ever try to play any more?" Jimmy asked, jerking his head toward the keys.  
"Oh, lots of requests for a one-handed piano player," Thomas smirked, coming nearer. 

Jimmy stared him down. Made him lose his composure and come out from behind the joke.  
"I can still do some of the chords with my bad hand and can carry a tune with my good. But I only peck around a bit late at night when no one's around and I have too much time on my hands...practically never with this new position."

 

"Come and sit and we'll practice you up a bit," Jimmy said, turning back around to the keys, knowing Thomas would follow.  
And Thomas sat next to him, and simply decided it was enough to enjoy that hour without worrying about anything else.  
Happily ever after never happened for Thomas, but for the moment this was happy enough.


	16. Chapter 16

Hmmm.....the Jimmy in my head does not want to settle down and the Thomas in my head needs/appreciates some stability.  
Fortunately, I don't have to decide this morning...or even this week.  


But I really like Andy as a character. So, yes, to the comments about Andy: I could just imagine him trying to really "study" on everyone in the village to figure out who might suit Thomas, wanting his friend happiest. Andy is truly lovely.

\---  
\---  
\---

Mary Crawley sat in a puddle of sunlight, the windows of her office thrown wide. A stack of correspondance and few very heavy books on animal husbandry were scattered on the desk before her.

"Thank you, Mister Dolly. I appreciate it."  
Lady Mary laced the cord of the phone through her fingers as she talked. "Yes, I'll certainly tell Lady Edith you said that. And I'll send the man straight on.  
"Wednesday? That would be wonderful of you.  
"Yes. Good day." She hung up the phone with a click and turned to where her brother in law was waiting.  
Mary smiled broadly; Tom was looking well.

 

"What was that all about?" Tom Branson grinned back, helping himself to a whiskey. "Plotting some new venture I don't know about?"  
Tom was the closest thing she had to a real friend. He was hard headed as she was about business, but far softer hearted. ("He'll be pleased with me," she thought with a self-satisfied smirk.)

 

"I was arranging the life of one of our servants," she said.  
"Ah, and which lucky person is receiving this benevolence?" Branson replied with an ironic tone. "And do they yet know or are you telling them after?"  
"After. Definitely after. And it's Barrow." Lady Mary moved some ledgers in front of her. Tom and she were to go over figures this afternoon--a pleasant settling of account.

"Barrow? What sort of trouble has Thomas gotten into these days? I thought he'd already had his life 'arranged' by you."  
Tom settled himself into the most comfortable chair. (Mary would insist on perfect mathematics, even though the sun was shining outside.)

 

"Well, it's more for the other one-- James. You know he came here bleeding, needing help. Papa was quite outraged, but the matter had already been settled." (Tom nodded and sipped his drink, well acquainted with house intrigue.)

"So Anna said that James had some difficulties and Barrow was going to try to help him. But, really, what can the two of them do on their own? So I called Mr. Dolly--the one who runs that club where all Edith's bright young things go--and arranged for James to have a job there."  
Tom, who had been paying less than perfect attention, laughed outright. "Mr. Dolly?"  
"I can't help the man's name, Tom. And the Cafe brings in loads of business, so James will be in the right place. If he's half as good as Anna says, then he'll be set."

 

Branson shifted slightly. He wasn't sure this was the answer to the problem Thomas Barrow would prefer. In spite of the butler's spikey behavior, Tom had always tried to play fair with him. They'd once been somewhat friendly before the war.  
"Maybe a job here would be better?" he asked with his most innocent tone.  
"Papa would never allow it. He's almost pacing to get the man out the door as it is, noblesse oblige be damned. You know about Lady Anstruther, of course?"

 

And Lady Mary moved closer, sharing the information in a whisper with a smirk on her face.

"Lady Mary Crawley, how would you even know of such a thing?" Tom blushed and laughed and almost spilled his drink. He took the last of it in a gulp.  
"I'm a twice married woman, Tom. I know all," and Mary moved back to the ledgers.

 

"Oh, and the Duchess of Yeovill wrote and wants to come visit Tuesday next. Her niece is down and she won't be put off another time from you two meeting." Mary smiled smugly and drawled, "Maybe I'll arrange things for you, too."  
"I need another drink," Tom muttered.  
The meeting began.

 

\---  
Thomas was indeed not happy with the situation, although he'd known all along Jimmy would eventually go.  
The only thing that saved his mood was that Lady Mary had arranged for both men to travel down to London.  
There was a long list of things her ladyship needed...and Barrow also suspected she knew he'd want to ensure Jimmy's safety. Lady Mary didn't like to be caught in a kindness, but she had her moments.

And the advance on Jimmy's salary along with what Thomas could loan him would wipe his slate free.  
"I appreciate this," Jimmy stammered when he'd told him. "I knew you'd help, Mr. Barrow, but I didn't know you'd do all this. I've been gone and things have moved on."  
A silence fell between them.  
"You'll always be my friend, Jimmy, no matter how long," Thomas Barrow said sincerely. "And we'll have a bit of an adventure before we part."

 

\---  
Anna could barely wait 'til evening to share the news with Mr. Bates.  
While Anna was very fond of Jimmy, her husband was definitely not and the two had butted heads more than once. To him, James Kent could do no right.  
So if John Bates would be happier with Jimmy leaving, his wife was happier, too.

 

'Happy' was a word used frequently in association with the couple. Several years into marriage, they still billed and cooed like newlyweds.  
And young Bates junior was an added source of fascination for his parents. Never had a baby been so loved.

As Anna came to the servants hall, she saw Mr. Bates waiting there with their little prince.  
The valet hadn't thought to have a son. And it made him almost burst with pride at the splendors of fatherhood.  
John gently rocked the boy, telling him some nonsense story in a low, doting tone.  
The baby looked up at his father with wide eyes. 

 

Bates junior was not much beyond mewling and puking, but the two proud parents swore he could completely understand them.  
They believed he followed the stories of the nanny upstairs, told more for the older children than Johnny or Miss Violet.  
Their boy would be a giant among men.

But for now he snuggled comfortably in his father's strong arms, with his mother coming in to smooth the hair at his brow.

It was almost time to go home where they would have all night to enjoy.  
The 'happy couple' was a contented trio.  
Anna felt so grateful at it all. She sent up a silent prayer of thanks for whatever she'd done to deserve all of this.  
"Ready to go home, Mr. Bates?"  
Her husband smiled lovingly. "Certainly, Mrs. Bates."

 

\---  
Another man held another little boy in his lap, though the child was almost too big.  
Barrow had gone up to the nursery to tell Miss Sybbie and Master George that he would be going away for a short time.  
Sybbie gave him a serious, searching look, but appeared to believe him when he promised to come back. She didn't like all this coming and going people did, but if Mr. Barrow gave his word, he'd keep it, she knew.

 

Master George, on the other hand, had not been so easy.  
The youngster had become the butler's shadow, and was already quite put out that this new man, Jimmy, was eating into his spare time.  
So Jimmy going for a trip was good. But Mr. Barrow going with him, even for a short while, was not. 

"It'll just be four sleeps, Master George," the butler soothed, rocking them both slightly.  
"Take me?" the boy muttered, half asleep already.

"No, Master George, your mother would be too lonesome, and so would Miss Sybbie. But I'll be back soon and we'll have fine tales to tell one another." Barrow used his thumb to wipe away a trace of earlier tears. "And now you go to sleep and dream me a wonderful dream."

 

He lifted the boy easily, shifting him to rest against his shoulder. "Just calm yourself and sleep, my laddo."

As Barrow walked the child back to his bedroom, Jimmy stayed seated in the corner.  
Who would have thought Mr. Barrow would be so good with children?  
Jimmy Kent realized, not just for the first time, that he knew very little about the man he'd called his best friend.


	17. Chapter 17

\-----  
Wednesday morning the rain was falling with such ferocity that it was like explosions as each drop hit the ground. The sky 'wept.'  
All the staff were early, though, coming by with words of advice for the two travelers. 

"I go and no one but you even follows me to the cart. You go and there's a parade," grumbled Jimmy "It's like old Fezziwig departing."  
Thomas just gave a look. "We've worked a bit toward one another, but don't think it's all hearts and flowers." Of course, Mrs. Baxter coming by just then and patting him on the shoulders didn't help his argument.

 

Andy was still trying to claim he should have been allowed to join. (He was a city boy and knew the streets in case their plans went wrong.)  
But Thomas reminded him that he'd spent time in London, too, as had Jimmy, and also that Andy should be careful before making it seem they were so replaceable--Carson for him, Mosely for Parker. "That's how factory work is set," the butler had commented. "And look how they're faring."

 

As Jimmy took their cases out to the car, Daisy pulled the butler aside.  
"Just remember when you go haring off to London, Mr. Barrow, that we expect you back. Andy and I, Mrs. Baxter, the Bates....everyone.....all of us EXPECT you back." The young cook dropped her eyes in embarrassment. "You both have the most wonderful time in the meantimes though. Really do."  
And Daisy scurried off.

 

So, at a right smart pace, the two departed. Out of liveries, dressed in dapper clothes, they looked like two young, successful burghers going off to conduct business in the big city. 

\---

Upstairs, the dreary weather had set everyone's teeth on edge.  
Henry and Tom were in a bit of a squabble about paperwork, and the keeping thereof.  
Branson was the one who had to tote up the books each month, and, unlike his wife, Henry Talbot was not a believer in meticulous records.  
Since Tom hated paperwork as much as the next man, that made him feel the burden all the more. 

 

Of course, Henry refused to fight, was utterly charming, and promised to do better--before changing the topic in its entire. Having given up his passion of racing, Talbot was like a caged tiger--exotic and beautiful, but pacing and bored.

 

Lord Grantham seemed unaware of the tension around him, reading his paper and making random comments about articles of interest (to him).  
He was, however, rather on edge himself. 

Mary was at it again, cornering him yesterday to propose that they move the family investments from wool to electricity, of all things. Good English wool had weathered every financial crisis, and she wanted to bet the bank on something people didn't even need.  
Tom and Henry, of course, advocated for cars, saying even the poor were wanting cars and electric lights.  
Young people.

 

At least Robert cheered up when his wife came in the room, though Cora had only come to kiss him goodbye.  
For Lady Grantham had a meeting at the hospital.

The hospital transition had gone brilliantly, and Cora was pleased with how smoothly Dr. Clarkson and Isobel had managed the change.  
(How well she remembered the issues she'd had with the two when Downton had been used as a convalescent home.)

 

What Lady Grantham was dreading was what she could already see was the next phase--getting Dr. Clarkson to accept a younger physician on a somewhat equal basis. As long as he was left king of his domain, Clarkson hadn't cared about the village hospital becoming smaller.  
But having to share that reduced domain as he got older...well, the gloomy weather outside reflected Cora's lack of optimism on her chances for success.

 

\----  
Meanwhile, the train to London was clacking along top speed, rain sheeting against the windows.  
Jimmy and Thomas hunched inside, playing another hand of cards. They'd been at it for some time already, and conversation had slowed as the monotony of the ride took over.

"So are you happy?" Jimmy asked in one of the longer pauses. It had taken him all this time to ask such a personal question.

"I'm happy to be putting you to shame in this card game," Thomas replied, keeping his eyes on his hand.

"At the Abbey, you prat." Jimmy threw down two cards and replaced them. "Now that you're Carson-Not-Carson. Do you like it?"

 

Thomas considered carefully. "Well, it was a promotion, you know, and what I've worked toward. And now that Carson's mainly gone I can put some things to right that weren't quite fair."  
"There are fewer of us left, so there aren't the little schemes and jealousies that used to drive me wild," he continued. 

Jimmy looked at him. "And you have friends now. Not just the two of us, like before,"

 

A blush painted Barrow's pale cheeks. "Nothing like the two of us, but, yes, they tolerate me better these days. And I can't stand outside and complain about the man in charge when I'm the one in charge.  
"There's always his lordship," Jimmy suggested. Thomas smiled.  
  
He leaned toward the other man. "I know it may be hard for you to understand the change. .  
"I like to sit in my corner spot and know that they save it for me. And it's good to know that the people under me will do as I say, and not act up or try to stick the knife in."

 

"So you're happy," Jimmy said, a statement this time. "I'm glad you're happy, Thomas."  
But that seemed like too much sentiment for an Englishman.  
There was an awkward pause. 

"Where is this place you're working?" Thomas asked, with nothing better to fill the silence. 

"Cafe de Paris. Lady Rose's friend played there, when it was Elysee." Jimmy considered his cards before looking up.  
"How is Lady Rose, anyway? She owes me a favor." There Jimmy winked, back to his role of 'ladies' man.'  
And the conversation turned light and full of idle gossip again.

\---  
The Crawleys were not happy that night.

"I don't know why you fight change so much, papa," Mary said angrily, having again cornered her father over drinks.  
"Things aren't going back to the way they used to be, and they might get worse. We need to make sure and insulate Downton against any more economic shocks." Lady Mary realized she was haranguing the poor man, but she was more stressed this year after looking over the books. 

Instead of a neat tying up, this quarter's books looked positively dismal.  
"If we allow them to build this electric works on our land, we'd get some of the benefits. A national grid isn't the same as socialism.  
"And it would raise their standard of living, too," she wheedled. "Wouldn't you like that added to our legacy?"

 

Lord Grantham stayed silent, enjoying his brandy and letting his daughter's voice fade out.  
The old earl really wished she'd leave him in peace in his own home.

 

\---

Mr. Barrow and Jimmy were well distant from the peaceful village of Downton.  
The London station was an absolute frenzy of people, the noise banging and clanging full volume, calls for boarding fading in and out.

The street outside was inches deep in water and cars left a wake behind them as they passed.  
"I hate to waste the cash, but I say we need to find a ride," Thomas remarked, almost catlike in his wish to stay dry.  
"It's not much of a hike, but I don't mind if we do," Jimmy replied, glad to be finally home.


	18. Chapter 18

Jimmy Kent was anxious. True, the meeting with his new employer had gone smashingly well, and he ordinarily would have felt quite flush with the terms of pay. 

Mr. Dolly had even thrown in a room up the stairs for Jimmy to stay in--more to have someone on hand at odd hours than in appreciation of his newest hire, but still an excellent thing to have.  
Jimmy would fill in with the bands as needed, help with set up when not needed, and be a man-of-all-trades. If that meant on some odd nights he'd serve customers, well, it was still an opportunity above being a footman in Jimmy Kent's mind.

 

No, Jimmy wasn't anxious about his future. He was anxious about his past.  
Tonight he and Thomas would be meeting with the men Jimmy'd run out on. They had the cash to settle the problem, but these men weren't always reasonable, Kent knew for a fact.

 

When they got to the got to the Golden Dog, the place was packed. Thomas pushed through the crowd at the tiny pub, with the shorter man following him.  
Finally, they were arm to arm at the bar, alone together in the crowd that jostled around them.  
First round.  
Jimmy smiled up at his friend, more widely as the alcohol began to kick in. 

 

Second round.  
Thomas wasn't drinking much, if at all, but Jimmy didn't take note and nervously kept calling for more.  
The two smoked and laughed at the other patrons, making snide half-way jokes. 

Around the third (fourth?) round, Thomas reminded Jimmy of their task that night. "You shouldn't drink so much," he said, looking around over the heads of the patrons. "We might need to be quick on our feet."  
"Fussbudget," Jimmy replied, holding his drink. "When did you become such a fussbudget?"

 

He took another long pull from the bottle of giggle water and....well....giggled.  
"I wanted you to stay my friend, you know," Jimmy said, nudging against Thomas's shoulder. "I'm rubbish to write, but I did make an effort. Didn't do good enough. Didn't visit or even write good enough, but I did want...I do want for us to stay friends."

 

Thomas smiled softly.  
(Yes, Jimmy thought, that's the way of it. Thomas still carries himself in that old arrogant, prideful way, but he's softer now, too. He's both tougher and softer.)  
"You'd better go to the back and splash some cold water, Jimmy. They'll be coming soon," Thomas said, taking his arm to steer him.

\---  
So the younger man splashed and splashed the cold water, hoping to cool his flushed cheeks.  
But it didn't improve matters much.  
And when they came back, the Jimmy could see the creditors from a distance, already leaning and waiting. The man was glad to be a little drunk.

 

Still, Kent puffed his chest out and went for the bluff, introducing Mr. Barrow as though naught were amiss, and even asking for a signature that he'd paid off the "loan."  
"What if we don't want to settle? What if we think you owe a lick of interest, now that we've waited past the due?" the larger of the two men growled. He was bulky and muscled, and Jimmy doubted even Thomas could take him in a fair fight. (But then, perhaps they'd just try 'unfair.')

 

Thomas stepped in, though, his face that glacial mask he sometimes wore, "You've got what's owed you, now call it even...or we'll crack your heads like a couple of walnuts."  
The stare was so cold.  
Jimmy Kent was downright impressed.  
So apparently were the two men. The smaller of the two knocked already bruised and bleeding knuckles against the bar top. They'd had other collections already that night.

 

"We'll be seeing his business in the future, Alsey, if you don't beat him dead tonight," the second man prompted.

"We'll buy you a round to seal your satisfaction, then," Jimmy jumped in quickly, Thomas still glaring that icey grey glare.

"Neh, not with the likes of you two. We'll call it square tonight, but I won't go so far as that." And the two thugs turned and pushed their way out through the crowd.

 

Thomas slumped and motioned to the bartender. Limits or not, he deserved a whiskey after such as that.  
Jimmy, meanwhile, was stoked. The alcohol was still running giddily through his bloodstream, and the adrenaline rush of the confrontation added to it. He was almost ready to crow, he was so excited.   
It was only after quite a bit of "did you see the size of's " and "you were scary as hell, you were's" that Thomas managed to pull Jimmy toward the door. 

 

The younger man pulled back, taking Thomas by the wrist. And for the first time, the younger saw the older one's scars.  
Jimmy's brain was drink-addled, and Thomas could almost see the gears turning as he tried to figure out what the scars meant.  
"Let's go back to the rooms, Jimmy. Lest they circle back." Thomas pulled down his cuff and took his friend by the shoulder. 

"But what?" Jimmy mumbled, his earlier euphoria hicupping.  
"I brought a bottle of his lordship's champagne to celebrate. We'll pour it and you can play me a tune. Come on, laddo, here we go."  
Thomas's voice was a cajoling sing song to distract him.

 

"I knew you were still a cagey one, Mr. Barrow. That's just the ticket," Jimmy Kent said, shaking his head then grinning widely.  
And they moved slowly home.

\---  
The Cafe was down a staircase, usually guarded.  
Thomas decided to take the flight up, instead. They'd play music the next night, maybe enjoy watching the toffs dance and have a rollicking time.  
Tonight they'd done enough and needed to rest.

 

Jimmy again was extolling the virtues of city life. ("He's a very chatty man, drunk Jimmy is," Thomas thought affectionately.)  
"You should come here, but you won't. It won't even be because of that Andy. Or the job.  
Well, maybe the job. But it's mainly that Georgie. Who knew my competition would become a child?"

"There's no competition, Jimmy," here Thomas peeled the man off him, having become embarrassingly entwined in helping him up the stairs.  
"You'll be my friend, no matter who or what.  
"Now do you really think there's need for champagne? Maybe save it 'til tomorrow?"

 

"It's perfect here," said Jimmy, looking around the room.  
"Well, it's not the Savoy," his friend countered.  
"No, it's perfect here. I've a room, and a job playing piano." Jimmy's face crumpled. "But you make it all a lie. I may not be a good person, Thomas. I may be shallow. But I try to be honest and have what fun I want. Then you come here and it's a lie. Every day."

 

The men sprawled on the couch together, and Thomas rubbed a tentative hand on his friend's shoulder. "You aren't talking sense, Jimmy," he said.  
Jimmy leaned into the comforting touch.  
It had been a hard task that night, but the two of them had faced it down. He'd again be free to live the life he'd chosen in London. 

Jimmy sighed softly and just stayed there with Thomas, trying to make the world stop spinning.  
" I just want you to have good luck...such good luck in everything you want."  
And some short time later, Jimmy drifted off to sleep.


	19. Chapter 19

Apologies again for being a newbie. I looked at my Baxley and almost skipped posting today. Dialogue is already my sore spot, and they are really hard for me, dialogue wise. I think of them as quiet, but then realize that Moseley is a quiet rambler....now how do you do that on a page?  
But I set the task of an hour a day, and so I meander on....  
Thank you to those folks with the patience to meander with me.

\---  
\---

\---  
Back at Downton, Joseph Moseley was taking advantage of Mr. Barrow's absence to spend a little more time with Miss Baxter. 

 

It wasn't that Moseley was afraid of the butler. He just knew that Mr. Barrow's sense of humor sometimes came out in rather biting form.   
Also, Moseley hadn't much liked his earlier behavior toward Miss Baxter , though she'd explained it away. ( Joseph knew for a fact there wasn't a 'disloyal' bone in her body, but if his special friend could forgive Barrow's error, then who was he to disagree?)  
So while Moseley kept his criticisms of Barrow to himself these days, he hadn't yet warmed to the man as much as the others. ("Slow to anger, slow to forgive," his mother always said.)

 

Moseley smiled. It would be nice to have a peaceful evening at the big house, with Mr. Carson back at the head of the table with Mrs. Hughes.  
The two were even staying over, Miss Baxter said. Staying over since no other senior male staff spent the night anymore other than Mr. Barrow.   
How odd it was to think of that. But times were changing, Moseley knew. 

 

\----

"Look at you!" Miss Baxter greeted him, immediately noticing his new suit.   
" A touch too flashy, perhaps?" Moseley replied, flustered and smoothing his own lapels. People always took him for an old man, even when he'd been much younger.   
And Moseley disliked that, but he didn't want to look the fool again by trying too hard.

 

"It's perfect," Miss Baxter smiled softly and motioned him in. "Come sit and we'll soon be ready. Daisy will bring you tea."  
It was good to be back.

 

\---

Mrs. Hughes was worrying over Mr. Carson.   
They'd agreed with each other about staying the nights at the Abbey, since there were still enough young staff members living in to need supervision on the men's side.   
However, she hadn't realized that Mr. Carson would drive himself to distraction with the job.

 

His hands were still affected with the same touch of the palsy, more so when he was stressed.   
At this rate, she was unsure how much use he'd be.  
He could carry trays, that was true, but Andy was pretty much serving solo--Mr. Carson had never given over to the idea of maids in the dining room.  
Elsie Hughes wondered if she might somehow impose upon Mr. Moseley to stay over, too.

 

\---  
"I have books for you on cottage industries, Daisy," Moseley said to the young cook. "I know you wanted to look at doing something more with the farm.  
"I only brought a couple, but I'll get you more if you'd like."

 

Daisy nodded her thanks and tucked the books under one arm, pouring with the other.  
"Do you think a woman could run a farm, then? Really? Mr. Mason keeps saying yes, but I'm not sure why people would buy jams and such from Yew Tree when everyone with a pot can make them theirselves."   
Daisy looked earnestly at Mr. Moseley.   
"Besides, I'd have the books to keep--more than here even. And there's something safe about being a cook at the big house, rather than a farmer depending on the sun and the rain to make my profit."

 

Moseley smiled at the girl. She was a bright one, their Daisy, and she looked at everything from every angle.   
"You can do as you dream, Daisy. I have confidence that whatever you decide--you can do as you dream."

\----

When they sat down for the supper finally, Mr. Moseley was again reminded of how long the days were for servants at Downton.   
Not that his day's weren't hard--preparing the right lessons to challenge his students, helping with some of their needs outside the classroom, too--Mr. Moseley was a busy man.   
But he didn't have the same long days that he'd had as a footman at the big house.

 

Joseph leaned in during a pause in the chatter to ask, "Have you heard from Mr. Barrow and Jimmy, Mr. Carson?"  
Carson frowned. "We know that they arrived. Mr. Barrow telephoned. And we know when he'll be back, since the arrangements are made.   
"Other than that, what would we have heard?"

 

"I'm sure Mr. Barrow will tell us his stories when he returns," Anna smiled across at Phyllis.  
"If he can," joked Andy. "That Jimmy is quite the character, he is."

 

"Enough of that, Andrew," Carson said. "I'm sure that James will soon be settled back at a safe distance from the rest of us."  
And the butler signaled he was ready to leave.

 

"Later, can we have a walk in the garden?" Mr. Moseley quietly asked Miss Baxter.   
It was, after all, spring when a young (and middle aged) man's heart turned toward love.   
Although Mr. Moseley would never be so bold as to call it that, to be certain.

"Of course," Miss Baxter replied, smiling softly.

 

\----

So they walked down the garden path, two lonely people with very quiet lives.  
"I'd like it if I could return the favor by having you to supper on your half day?" Mr. Moseley made the statement sound like a question, but he felt very forward to even ask.   
"I'm a bit above bachelor's rations, don't worry. Mrs. Byrd taught me to boil things and such when Mrs. Crawley was away and we were so bored.  
"That was back during the war...." Moseley trailed off, becoming tongue tied yet again. 

 

Miss Baxter dared to take his arm, using the excuse of the uneven ground.  
"I'd very much like that, Mr. Moseley," she replied.

They stood in companionable silence, looking up at the sky.  
"My friend Margaret and I used to go out on the roof and look at the stars when we were children. Made us feel even smaller than we were, but calmed us, too."  
The silence stretched comfortably.  
"Thank you for coming tonight, Mr. Moseley. It's been lovely. I'll send down to you before my half day to make plans."

 

A spring breeze came up, catching at the edges of Miss Baxter's hair and making tiny curls around her face.  
He almost moved to smooth it back, but caught himself in time.  
Still, Joseph Moseley felt thrilled and proud to be standing quietly there with Phyllis Baxter, among the lavender staring at the stars.

\----

The lights of London almost blotted out the stars, that and the buildings.   
It was hard for Thomas to get his bearings sometimes, though he knew the streets well enough, having served during London seasons.   
It was odd, though, to not have to be back at a certain hour.   
He could see how an adventuresome tike like Jimmy would like such freedom. 

 

They'd spent a lazy daytime in the park, but now Jimmy was at the Cafe working.   
And Thomas had found the noise of it all too much. A natural introvert, he ducked out for a smoke and to rest his ears.

 

Jimmy, though, was loving the bustle of the joint. Music was rollicking, flappers and their dates were laughing: everyone was in the best of moods.   
It helped take his mind off what he remembered of last night.   
Not the two thugs--thinking on that still made Jimmy strut a bit.   
But the other--the scars on Thomas's wrists. (Thought he'd imagined them, he did.)

 

He'd looked again this morning, in the park when Thomas had reached up to secure his hat from an errant gust of wind.   
Jimmy had hoped he'd dreamed the marks, but there they were. And how had he missed them every day before?  
On seeing the scars, Jimmy wished he could be braver and say something. But he wasn't.

 

Plus now he worried if he said the wrong thing, would it break Thomas again?  
Might it not make things worse?  
Jimmy had always seen Mr. Barrow as invincible---torment him....pound him with fists...and he'd stand. Stalwart, like he'd been just last night. 

 

A flash of anger made Jimmy slam down the chair he was carrying.   
Why had Thomas not said anything in his letters?  
Obviously, he needed protecting, too, though Jimmy couldn't quite wrap his mind around it.   
For once, James Kent wished he could be brave enough to say something. But he didn't know what or how.


	20. Chapter 20

"There's a policeman here to see you, Mr. Carson," Andy Parker announced, sticking his head into the butler's office.  
"What?"grumbled the old butler.  
"A policeman, that Sergeant Willis who was here before," the footman replied easily. "I put him in the servants hall, but he wants to come talk to you."  
"Well, tell Mrs. Hughes to bring him in if you please, Andrew. And do try not to alarm everyone on your way. I'm sure it's nothing." Carson swiveled around in his chair, back to the door.

 

Andy did as he was directed, and soon Mrs. Hughes was leading the sergeant into the room.  
She had apparently ordered tea along the way, for Mrs. Patmore was on their rear guard with a tray.  
"Sergeant Willis, would you care for some?" she offered.  
He smiled and nodded. "It's nothing worrisome this time, I'm happy to say. Mr. Carson solved the last case like a member of the Yard. I should hire him in." Willis chuckled at his own humor. 

 

Mr. Carson did not. "What exactly brings you to Downton this time, sergeant," growled the butler, eyebrows drawn together in a frown.  
"We just need you to sign the formal statement on the Carper case. That's all." Willis took two of the biscuits that Mrs. Hughes was offering. ("Don't mind if I do.")

 

"By all means, make yourself at home," Carson grumped, waving off the plate himself.  
"And I'll just sign these with all due speed.  
"I wouldn't want to waste your 'valuable' time."

\----

"I don't want to waste our last night together...Want to go to the flicks? I'm bored and want to stretch my legs," Jimmy said the next day.  
The time in London had flown by.  
They'd had a pleasant run of it--Jimmy working and Thomas doing little more than errands in the evenings, but the days were free.  
And the younger man had sought to pack every free moment full of things he thought Thomas might enjoy.

"You've only just got a new job and a new place and you're bored?" smirked Thomas. "No wonder you found my pace dull."

 

The film wasn't a very good one. They picked it mainly because it was close and fit the time they had.  
But Thomas enjoyed sitting there next to his friend. Jimmy's breath was a phantom brush against his ear as the younger man made comments throughout.  
Normally this would be irritating. But Jimmy's comments were invariably funny and in line with what Thomas was already thinking to criticize.

He could see the flash of teeth in the darkness as Jimmy laughed.  
And Thomas stored up every gesture, the memories to sustain him back at Downton.

 

In turn, Jimmy kept glancing at Thomas and regretting that he had to leave.  
Mr. Barrow was the best friend that he'd ever had. Yes, they had differences, but it was like two sides of the same coin.  
Jimmy would never have though he'd be friends with a man 'like that,' but for whatever reason here he was closer to Thomas than anyone he'd ever known.  
Thomas was the exception to every rule. (And, yes, he was exceptional.)

 

Outside they walked shoulder to shoulder toward the club for one last meal.  
Silent, each with their own thoughts.

\----

Meanwhile, living out of his suitcase near Oxford, Henry Talbot was settling down to dinner at the hotel restaurant.  
Talbot had contacts with Morris Motors from back in his racing days (though he'd last driven Bentley). And he'd decided it was worth a trip to see if their automobiles might be part of what he and Tom were selling.  
The company had also started taking private investment for expansion, and being in on such expansion might mean opportunities.

 

Henry was tired of always being 'odd man out' at Downton. Even if it took travel to deal direct like this, he'd be willing to commit.  
Talbot knew his wife loved him, but he wasn't quite sure she respected him.  
He wanted to change that.

\---

It was close to three in the morning when Jimmy woke Thomas up.  
"Thomas, why didn't you tell me?" he (finally) started.  
And neither managed to sleep any more that night.


	21. Chapter 21

Poor Henry....he's got to do something other than look good. Also, Morris had it's public influx of investment in 1926 and I'm writing 1927 now....ahem.....so apologies for any/all errors on autos or the automotive industry in the 1920's. Mea culpa.  
\---  
\---  
\---

 

Automobiles were rapidly changing the way of life in Great Britain.  
There were still horses and carts on village streets, but the auto wasn't just a rich man's plaything any more. Farmers were finding them most useful, storekeepers, too.  
Talbot & Branson were cashing in as much as the economy would allow. And Tom's side of the business, repairs, was doing well.

 

But Henry could already see some of the handwriting on the wall.  
The number of auto manufacturers was declining, not rising. Henry and Tom's lofty dreams of being "Mr. Rolls or Mr. Royce" were that--dreams.  
Success, Henry was sure, would come in chumming up to the contacts he'd made while racing. They didn't need to reinvent the wheel, rather to pick which manufacturer would best survive and become that company's representative in Yorkshire.

 

Hence, his quick trip down south.  
Henry had charmed his way into the top offices by relentlessly name dropping and smiling at secretaries.  
Thanks to these skills, Talbot & Branson were now being offered a contract with Morris cars.

 

They'd be the home base for sales, which meant an expense as someone took Henry's office in the village. (Then, again, that assistant Tom had foisted upon him could probably do the job already, leaving Talbot uncaged.)  
All Henry would have to do was to convince other villages to set up showrooms like he and Tom had. This would surely be easier than convincing a local to part with his life savings. Perhaps scout which suppliers the company could gobble up.  
He would go for the bigger pockets, which were usually easier pickings.

Henry Talbot entered the train back home, very satisfied indeed.

\---

Downstairs, people were preparing for Mr. Barrow to return.  
Mrs. Patmore had started the morning thinking of today as "returning to normal," then berated herself for the fickle creature she was.  
"Elsie will be thankful, though, that's right. It may not be to Mr. Carson's liking, but being retired is easier on her when all is said and done."

 

Mr. Carson was straightening the papers on "his" (Barrow's) desk. No sloppy reports would pass the older man's final inspection.  
Carson had to admit, however, that as happy as he always was stepping into Downton Abbey, he was now almost as happy stepping out of it.  
He'd felt like he was 'taking it on the chin' and soldiering on when he was first put out, but he now saw his time away as less of a punishment.

 

Miss Baxter pulled Andy aside to remind him of Mr. Barrow's return.  
"Of course I remember," the young man grinned, pulling a face.  
"But goodbyes are hard, at least I think so for me," Miss Baxter replied. (Thinking but not explaining about that last time Jimmy'd said goodbye.)  
"I wanted to remind you, because you're his friend and the very best one to help."

 

So, in turn, Andy pulled Daisy aside to ask if they could have a special pudding, the one they'd had when Mr. Barrow first came back. A sort of welcome home.  
Daisy and Mrs. Patmore set to work.

\---

In London, the two men stood at the station, side by side, Jimmy carrying Thomas's valise.  
And they felt a strange sense of deja vu, in spite of the crowd swirling round them. 

"You're my friend always, Thomas, even if our lives don't fit. And I know you've got a good life back at the Abbey, so I won't try again to get you to stay.  
"But if you ever, Ever think on doing something so stupid again..." Here the younger man's voice broke. "Well, before you throw your life away so cheap, know that I'd want it. Your life. Just show up on MY doorstep, and I'll try to help, just like you did for me."

 

Thomas was overcome, but he kept his expression as neutral as possible. He knew Jimmy had a marvelous opportunity with the new job. And Thomas tried to tell himself that everything would get back to a comfortable normal back at Downton.  
But for now, he felt as battered as though they'd had to fight it out in that pub. He hurt. He literally ached.  
"I might try to convince you to come back, you know," Barrow said lightly. "You've got to settle down some time."  
And they shook hands as the station master gave the call, and Thomas quickly entered the train.

\---

Hours later, the Crawley family was winding down the day in the drawing room.  
Henry had returned just before dinner with little fanfare and now the topic of conversation was news from his trip.

 

"I don't think we need more of the blasted things around, anyway," Lord Grantham protested, accepting a drink.  
"Why do people have this desperate need to drive? They aren't even driving to go anywhere anymore. Some of them just go out driving for no purpose at all." He shook his head in bewilderment.

 

"It's part and parcel of the modern age, exploring," grinned Tom. "And Henry's right to think we should get in on it. It's bound to make money, what with prices for automobiles falling every man Jack will want one soon.  
"I'm only sorry we didn't get in early enough to have our own moniker on the grill.  
"My brother in Boston prefers Fords, of course."

 

"But Mason motors are good ones," Talbot insisted. "I know they'd go. And they'd like us along as investors, too, so we'd have some say in their business."

 

Lord Grantham took a drink and tried to cool his temper. "My dear boy, why do you think everyone will want one of these machines? I understand the usefulness to a farmer, but an ordinary working sort? You'll have the infernal things ruining this lovely place, running up and down at breakneck speeds so that a man can't walk his dog for fear of it." 

"I think we've enough acres for you to walk your dog, papa," Mary drawled teasingly. "And I do think it's rather splendid of Henry to be moving forward on this."  
Henry Talbot smiled triumphantly.

\---

Thomas entered the servants door, completely done in. He wanted nothing more than to escape to his room, but found himself immediately nabbed by Mrs. Hughes.

"It's so good to have you back, Mr. Barrow. Upstairs dinner is done, but we're waiting for the gentlemen to call it a night."  
Mrs. Hughes smiled at the young butler. "You look knackered. Don't tell me the trip was more trouble than you thought?"

"Don't worry about me," Thomas replied coolly, starting to walk away.

 

"Oh but you're not getting away any more like that, Mr. Barrow," Mrs. Hughes ignored his words and followed him down the hall. "I've had Mrs. Patmore save you a plate. We thought you might be earlier, but we're just starting our pudding, so you aren't too late to see everyone after all."

 

Turning the corner to the servants hall, Thomas saw everyone rise--including Carson. "Come join us, Mr. Barrow. Your late train has been the topic of concern among the ladies. They'll be relieved to see you in the flesh at last."

"I've one last thing to take care of, before I go," and with that, Carson exited, leaving Thomas the head chair.

Satchel whisked away by a hall boy, heaping plate brought by Daisy, expectant faces smiling 'round him: Mr. Barrow was home.


	22. Chapter 22

(Seriously...there was a total eclipse in Yorkshire in the summer of 1927. I swear I didn't just suddenly wake up and yell 'eclipse.')  
\---  
\---  
\---

 

"'Zone of Totality,'" Daisy said as though savoring the words...rolling them in her mouth as though to feel them.  
"I wonder what it'll look like then? Will it just be shadowy or black as pitch? And will we even be where we can see it for the clouds?"

  

Miss Baxter handed over a booklet on the June eclipse that Mr. Moseley had sent up to Daisy. Baxter had been down at the school to help with a spelling competition, since she and Moseley were now officially 'stepping out.' ("Took him long enough," thought Thomas.)   
  
"And how is our Mr. Moseley today, Miss Baxter?" Mr. Barrow asked from the corner where he was sipping tea.  
"He's well," said Phyllis, ducking her head. "And Mr. Branson did a fine job on the award."

  

"Hope there weren't any Miss Buntings lurking about," Barrow said raising an eyebrow.

"I liked Miss Bunting, I did. She would be ever so excited to see this eclipse. Into sciences as well as mathematics, she was. I sometimes wonder how she's getting along." Daisy continued to flip through the pages of the booklet, ignoring the kitchen scramble.  
"Will the school set up cameras and such, Miss Baxter? Did Mr. Moseley say?"

 

"Well, we may not be Gigglesworth, but Mr. Moseley is studying all the diagrams," Baxter smiled. "Maybe Mr. Mason and Andy can help him build some of the devices."  
"And me, Miss Baxter?" Barrow prompted, earning her look.  
"If you would, Mr. Barrow, it would be lovely. I know you have a way with mechanicals." Miss Baxter smiled and left the room, needing to catch up some sewing. 

 

"You know it's still two weeks away," Thomas said. "Even though we've had a dull time of it for the last couple of months, it's not time to burst out yet. There are the menus to finalize for feeding all of Marchioness Hexham's fine guests along with the ones originally invited.  
"Lady Mary's in a twist."

  

"I know," Daisy said regretfully, putting away the booklet. "Mrs. Patmore and I have it in hand.  
"But I just can't seem to get the newspaper reports out of m'skull. It sounds like an Omen -- 'Zone of Totality'" she again intoned dramatically. "Wonder what sorts of disasters will come?"

 

"Daisy, get a wiggle on," yelled Mrs. Patmore, coming in. With a look of amusement, Thomas departed.

\---

  

In the hall, Mrs. Hughes caught up to the butler, inventories in her hand and a disgusted look on her face.  
"And it's a right good mess those girls have made in the guest rooms," she began. "I'm thankful we have the time...I've never seen the like.  
"At least the Marchioness's rooms are ready, since she's coming early. But the rest are at loose ends."

 

"You're not thinking of abandoning me for your cottage now, are you, Mrs. Hughes?" Barrow took the inventories with a nod of thanks.  
"Oh no," the housekeeper replied. "It gives me something to complain on. That and a cup of tea are necessary to long life."  
"Besides, what would Mr. Carson do without my daily reports?"

  

The young butler's eyes rose, but Mrs. Hughes pretended to ignore the question in them. "Why I brag on everything ceaseless," she said feigning casual comment. "He asks questions, but there I am--water on a stone."  
She smiled at Thomas then, patted his arm and left him.

\----

"Mrs. Patmore," Elsie called in, doubling back to the kitchen. "If you have a minute, I'd like a word please."  
"Certainly, Mrs. Hughes. I'll be in with some tea if you like?" Beryl gave her friend an inquiring look. The answer would tell her if it was a quick business or a longer chat at hand. 

"Tea would be nice, Mrs. Patmore. I wanted to go over the Marchioness Hexham's change of plans. We'll be more for dinner this week than anticipated."  
Beryl could move quite spry when there was news to be got. Quite spry, indeed.

\----

  

"But I don't understand why she'll be here this evening," Lady Mary complained, settling herself on the sofa.

Her father had called her in to give her a heads up, probably hoping to keep the two siblings from coming to words over the inconvenient change of plans.  
"You don't have to cancel with the Martins, Mary. I know you and your mama were planning a ride over. I just won't be able to join you. Edith said she had something important to discuss and wanted me here."

 

"Mysteriouser and mysteriouser," Mary drawled. "But then Edith always had a flair for theatrics.  
"You know it has something to do with these so-called friends of hers that she's foisted upon us." Mary rose and gave her father a peck on the cheek. "But I'll leave it as your business, and continue with mine."

  


With a slight smile, she left Lord Grantham in his study, absently petting Tia. "Was it really just much ado about nothing?" he wondered.  
Edith had sounded distinctly tense.  
("Ah, poor Edith," he sighed.)

\----

Edith had not only been tense. Edith had been frantic.  
Bertie followed her about the gallery as she paced. He'd sent orders down to pack immediately, decided unilaterally that they'd motor it the entire trip--knowing that the way his wife was reacting, even a wait for the early train would be too much. 

  

"How can I tell him? Yet how can I not? There's no way round." Edith stopped a moment to catch her breath, and Bertie reached out an arm.  
The two fell into each other, seeking solace. "My darling, I am so very, very sorry."

  

"It won't make a difference to us. We won't let it," Bertie whispered in her ear.  
A letter had arrived that morning: Michael Gregson was alive.


	23. Chapter 23

Even though she was the Marchioness of Hexham with a good man by her side, Edith still wanted the opinion of her father on the matter.   
Lord Grantham had many years of handling unexpected emergencies, while she and Bertie were novices. 

It was also calming simply to hear her father's voice.

 

"My darling child, this will turn out just like that Patrick chap during the war," Lord Grantham soothed, welcoming his middle daughter and her husband into his study. "Just someone playing a very nasty trick to get money from us all."

 

Edith shook her head and handed him the envelope. "No papa. It's no joke."  
"Michael was, quite simply, put in prison. The Germans thought he was using his job as a journalist to spy--apparently that's been used as a cover before. 

 

From beside her, Bertie made a slight sound of disgust. "And since they thought he was spying--even without us being at war--his arrest wasn't made public.   
"No one knew until recently, when the real British intelligence found out.  
"It's explained in the letter, along with what he plans to do now."

 

"I recognize Michael's writing, papa," Edith said. " I have books with his signature on the flyleaf still on my shelves."

 

There was a moment's silence as Lord Grantham sat and scanned the document.   
Edith moved to the nearest chair and sat, her emotions a turmoil--happy for Gregson, worried for Bertie, terrified for Marigold. She had known that there was danger in keeping her daughter with her, but she hadn't thought this would be the source. 

 

"It's an odd sort of thing," Grantham admitted finally. He looked up with a slight frown.   
"But it says he's not asking to talk, just telling you he's going to his solicitor and wanted to warn you of his return. So we'll leave it to the lawyers. I'll call Murray immediately."

 

"But, papa, don't you see? I don't care about any of that. I can start another magazine if I want. And Bertie has plenty of properties.   
"The letter says he knows I'm married and have moved on, and that he only seeks to warn me of his return to England--so he's not pushing in."

 

Edith's eyes became sorrowful.  
"But it's Michael--I'll have to tell him about Marigold. And if he claims paternity, then everyone will know. And it will ruin Bertie and I."

 

Lord Grantham stood. "Edith my darling, you're getting overly excited. We'll call Murray straight away and let him check things out.   
"Writing can be counterfeited and stories concocted. This might still be a fraud.   
"But even if he isn't, in my mind Marigold is your daughter--yours and Bertie's alone. And on that matter, the less said the better."

 

Bertie squeezed his wife's hand.  
She gave him a watery smile in return and tried to keep faith.  
But Edith had suffered many unhappy endings in her life. She hoped for the best, but feared for the worst.

\---

Below stairs, Mr. Barrow entered the servants hall and gave a little smirk. "Another meeting of the innkeeper's association?" he said facetiously upon seeing Mr. Carson, Mrs. Patmore, and the Bates sitting there.

 

"I will be just a moment, Mr. Barrow. I do know that times are busy," Mr. Carson replied dryly. "We just need to put an advertisement in the newspaper and I wanted to run by the wording."  
"Quite full up, we are," Mrs. Patmore bragged, nodding to the ad. 

 

"What is it, then?" Barrow asked, sitting down opposite.   
" 'Applications for apartments are being received almost daily and accommodation is being rapidly reserved,' " recited the cook. "Then it lists my phone, since the others don't have one yet."

 

"It's quite the standard thing. I saw it in the newspaper and thought it would be better to do it this way ourselves to avoid a last minute scramble," said Carson in a superior tone.

"Quite right, Mr. Carson," Anna agreed, thinking of spare rooms and linens.

 

"And you'll really be full up with visitors? I thought the night trains were bringing them and hauling them back next day?" Barrow said.   
"We'll be full to the rafters by next week," Mrs. Patmore said with no small pride.

"Impressive," Mr. Barrow replied, rising and leaving the room.

The others (minus Carson) smiled and bent their heads together again.

\---

Lady Mary was most annoyed to find that her sister had not only come days early, but she'd also come without Madge--forcing them to share the services of Anna.

"I don't really care what has you tied up in knots, Edith, since you seem intent on secrets. My concern is Downton, and Downton is about to be under siege. Half of England is coming to Yorkshire to watch this eclipse.   
"We have OUR guests as well as the ones you so casually added on.   
"Whatever problems you are having in your fairy tale life, keep them to yourself."  
And Mary, with one last irritated look, swept away from her sister.

 

She'd had a trying visit with the Martins.   
Theodore and Sally Martin were newly transplanted Americans, which already meant they held little appeal for Mary. But her mother had wanted to visit, since they came from the middle west, just as Cora had. 

This meant Lady Mary spent the day listening to talk of the eclipse (her new least favorite topic) in those flat American accents and putting up with a less than satisfactory luncheon.   
"Really," Mary thought, "when they came to live here, when they bought up fine estates, couldn't they learn how things are properly done? Mama did."

Lady Mary had a distinct headache.

 

\----

"It's been over two centuries since the last total eclipse," Daisy read to Mrs. Patmore. "They project that if the wind is settled in the west and fairly strong, then Yorkshire will have clear skies for viewing."  
"The 'Zone of Totality.' Doesn't that sound impressive?"

"Sounds like cash jingling in my pockets to me," Mrs. Patmore said, satisfied.


	24. Chapter 24

Elsie Hughes had been on her feet for twelve hours straight, except for two far-too-brief breaks for a bite to keep body and soul together.  
They were coming down to the wire for first guests to arrive, and Elsie needed to hide in her sitting room for a moment, lest she give one of the maids a sound smack.  
Maids no longer lived in--ever--which gave her less leverage. They were all foolish young things that started out with romantic notions of work in the big house and soon left for the easier hours of the shops.

 

"We'll be working day round, with only temporary staff as our salvation," Mrs. Hughes sighed, sipping her tea. "I didn't think much of the Crawley's London house maids, but it would be good to see their faces coming to the rescue, I must admit.  
"Poor girls getting the boot. What are times coming to?  
(She poured more tea for Mrs. Patmore, then herself, adding cream with a generous hand.)

 

"Just hiring in cheap temporaries for parties is where it's coming to. You should see explaining to some of these jackanapes what I want. It's like they think my kitchen is some holiday resort," Mrs. Patmore nodded.  
(Beryl had tried a new recipe for nut bread that morning, and cut a thick slice for her friend.) 

"The village girls, of course, are regulars and they do well enough with routine, part time. But you should see the mess I've had to untangle on the bigger jobs." (Elsie nodded her thanks. She had always had a sweet tooth, even as a girl.)  
"Frollickers, the lot of them," Beryl said with disgust.  
The two sipped and meditated on the vagaries of life and work. 

 

Mrs. Patmore grimaced and stirred.  
She was older than she once was and the long hours were taking their toll.  
She'd be thankful to get home to Bertie that night and put her feet up for good.

"I've a load of things coming by train. There's nothing to be had in town," she grouched.  
The other woman chuckled at her expression. "I've told you before London goods are good enough," she said. "They have conveniences you'll not find in Ripon."  
"Conveniences," grumbled the cook. "Conveniences will do me and you and all the others out of our jobs. But, yes, we'll be cutting corners where we must."  
They both nodded to the other and gave small sighs..

Things were certainly different these days.

 

"And your niece, how is she doing with the surge?" Elsie asked. "Mr. Carson has quite the battle plan drawn." (God help us!)  
Beryl brightened at the mention of the B&B, her pride and joy.  
"She's a right smart girl, our Annie. She's somehow talked two of her sisters into helping out the week. Told them it was 'experience' and they might meet London folk who would want serving girls," Mrs. Patmore took a sip and an utterly contented look crossed her face.  
"For free, they're working, if you can fathom it."

 

"My, my, that is enterprising," commented Mrs. Hughes. "Are there any spare Philpotts girls to join the Downton ranks?"  
"No, at least not for most of the time, but I'm thinking I'll "get" Mr. Barrow to ask that same question later, so as I can use a couple the night of the main dinner." Mrs. Patmore gave a conspiratorial grin.

And they sat quietly for a moment, thankful for the time. It was restorative, these meetings between friends.

At last, Mrs. Patmore broke the silence. "Now where do matters stand with Lady Edith?"  
And the conversation truly started...

\---

 

Meanwhile upstairs, Lady Edith was battling with her conscience.  
Anna was dressing her. She was in her old rooms. But she was miles away in her head, thrashing things through.  
Edith simply didn't think it honorable not to tell Michael about Marigold.

 

She instinctively knew that he was truly back, and believed what had been written in the letter. This was no grubby little scheme for cash.  
It was the correspondence of a man she had once loved and respected, again showing that same level of intelligence and caring.  
He'd done the research and knew her situation. He'd offered no blame for her moving on, though it must have crushed him. And he was arranging the easiest way to disentangle their two lives.

 

So how could she return such courtesy and caring with a lie?

Anna finished adjusting her hair, and Lady Edith tried to form a smile of thanks on her face.  
She was miles away from hair and dressing for dinner, however. This was one of those times when you realized that such things really didn't matter.

\----

Dinner that night was a rather quiet affair.  
"I have a meeting down south again," Henry Talbot tried as an opening. "But I'll be back up in time for the big event."  
Lady Mary rolled her eyes slightly. She was managing her business around the needs of the Abbey, but obviously Henry didn't understand priorities. "Well at least for that," she said smiling tightly.

"I'm glad to see you making such a success of it, Henry," Tom Branson enthused. "And Kevin's been keeping busy with the paperwork. We've a full room of parts for repairs, thinking that the visitors who motor up might need us--or other shops who'll call over.  
"Who'd have thought to see the like?"  
"Ah, you men and your motor cars," Mary said drily, wanting very much to change the topic.

 

"I am so glad your writer friends will be joining us, Edith," Cora remarked to her daughter.  
Edith smiled slightly, but it was Bertie who responded.  
"We're too far north, you know. Even though you're a bit south of perfect track, they'll be able to go out and back quite conveniently from here. We're so grateful for you allowing us all to come." Bertie looked sincerely at his mother in law.  
Bertie respected his own mother, but he adored Cora--every bit the strong woman, but without quite the bite.  
"Downton is your home, too, Bertie. You know that," Cora smiled.

 

"Thank you for letting us push in before your flood of visitors, Cora," Isobel said from down the table. "Dickie and I enjoyed our trip, but truly missed seeing everyone back home."  
"How was Luxor?" Lady Grantham asked. "We went there a long time past, and I've wondered if time has ruined it."  
"Not as it once was," agreed Lord Merton. "But then nothing is."  
"Egypt has national fever, is it any surprise?" added Isobel, teeth snapping.  
"But we want to hear about plans for the party," Dickie said, before his wife could begin a political rant.

"We've quite a number of people coming--some former neighbors, some friends of Edith's. It should all be such fun," Cora remarked placidly.  
"Yes, who is this Woolf woman and the others?" Lord Grantham inquired between courses.  
Tom chuckled, but no real literary discussion was forthcoming, so Grantham satisfied himself with his food.  
The younger man doubted very much if Robert would find the modernists to his liking.

\----

 

"You must tell them, my darling, before it hits the newspapers." Lord Grantham quietly leaned in to his daughter.  
Edith shook her head, unsure. "But Isobel will ask for detail....and won't Mary crow?"  
"Then answer Isobel's questions...about Michael. The verification is still left to Murray, but even so there's enough to sate Isobel.  
"And as to your sister 'crowing,' Mary will do nothing to harm you, both because you are siblings and because harming you harms all of us.  
"Say simply 'He's alive. He's back in England. He doesn't intend to come anywhere near the family....but I thought you should know.' There's the line to toe." 

 

And with that, Lady Edith turned to face the rest. 

\----

The news reached downstairs in a flash.

"Bit of a bombshell, that," enthused Andy to Daisy and Mrs. Patmore as he retold the happenings.  
"What do you think she'll do?" Daisy gasped.  
"Can't marry the first one, when you've married the second. So what is there to do?" Mrs. Patmore reasoned. "Still, it is quite the story, Andy. You're right there."  
And the three finally departed for home.


	25. Chapter 25

Note: Virginia and Vita, along with husbands, actually did go to the eclipse slightly NW of where DA might be. I'm having them swing down and visit, because even though they trimmed most of Virginia Woolf out of the party episode with Gregson...she is part of canon. (Sarah and Midge are OC's)  


\---  
\---  
\---

  

"We can only have our hopes and swallow our disappointments," Andy slowly read aloud from the newspaper, with Mr. Barrow nodding encouragement.  
The weather reports from Yorkshire were now getting top billing as visitors worried whether it would be sunny enough to see the eclipse.  
(Betting on weather in Yorkshire--a tricky choice, Barrow thought.)  
  
"It will occur exactly as the doctors of science have ordered," Andy read.  
"I'll have to save that bit for Daisy," he said. "She'll like the article if she has the time."

\---

The weather was clear for most of northern England, though localized patterns of cloud and fog made predictions hit and miss.  
Visitors had been warned away from the eastern coast, and the largest influx--on special trains from King's Cross--were following Thomas Cook & Son itineraries.  
Abbey guests, of course, were coming first class and lingering beyond the schedule of such hoi polloi.

Downton had already seen most of their 'regular' guests arrive.  
Old friends from Robert's regiment and a handful of nobles who no longer maintained country houses predominated that crowd.  
A few would be happy enough being in the "secondary" zone, others were motoring up in a caravan later on.

 

Lady Edith's 'add ins' were actually going by rail and omnibus before coming back to stay the weekend. They had not, therefore, been spotted at the Abbey yet.  
They were an odd lot, this group, and the staff were unsure of what to expect.  
"I've heard some rather risque things about that Vita Sackville West," Mrs. Hughes had told Mrs. Patmore.  
"Well, with a name like that," Mrs. Patmore laughed.  
"No, Beryl," Mrs. Hughes lowered her voice meaningfully. "Risque things."  
"Oh....oh, my," her friend replied. 

 

The literati were assigned rooms in a different wing than the family or regular guests, hoping to minimize any chance of shock between the two.

\---

BBC's London 2LO gave weather updates, and broadcast specials on "The Shadows of the Stars" and what people could expect to see during the following day's eclipse.  
People had built pocket eclipse spectroscopes and had on hand numerous pairs of smoked glasses.  
An Eclipse Dance was scheduled in town for visitors and workers alike.

 

And even at the Ripon flicks, they showed a newsreel about the "Wonders of the Official Eclipse Camp"--a newsreel that Andy complained was mainly flickering footage of men in suits walking across a very windy field, near very dull looking wind blown tents. (Daisy found it "really most exciting, truly I do.")

\---

Finally came the day.  
Lady Mary, Henry, and Tom Branson were spearheading the more adventuresome group of eclipse spotters, with packed baskets and servants motoring a few miles to what was assumed to be the perfect location.  
They were starting this escapade either alarmingly early or alarmingly late, depending on how one looked at it.

 

The Darnleys and Lord Grantham were in the group 'staying back' with the nannies and children on the north lawn.  
Sir John and Robert had both agreed that quick access to whiskey and soft chairs were preferable to a bouncing journey, not matter how short.  
That gave the Downton gentry an extra hour or more before crawling (still early) out of bed.  
Cora was perfectly content with this arrangement.

\---

Finally, the hour.

"Daisy's right it does seem like an Omen," Barrow said quietly to Bates, as they stood in the darkening.  
The light dimmed, as though for a storm, and several times the men thought they'd seen the peak of it.  
Suddenly, though, the sun went out, with only a thin pulsating ring of fire in the sky.

 

The people on the north lawn, guests and servants alike, became silent.  
The children stilled, wide eyed, and grabbed hold of the nearest hand. Dressed in white, they could still be seen, shadowlike--little ghosts in the dusk.  
A collective sigh came forth when the sun began to become visible again--as though everyone had held their breath for the duration and released it all at once. 

 

"Quite something, that," said Bates. "We'll not see the like again in our lifetime."  
The two men turned to go inside. (Duties never ceased.)  
"Breakfast served for the small group. The rest won't be back 'til midday," Thomas listed. But he looked back at the sky over his shoulder for a moment.  
"Yes, quite something," he agreed finally.

\---

A short time later, Daisy came racing up from the Village. Mr. Moseley would soon be on her heels, she reported, after he'd packed up at school.  
Mrs. Patmore had let her go free on the condition she made her way back quickly. Given her breathlessness, Daisy had been good to her word.  
"Did you see it, Mrs. Patmore? Weren't it wonderful? Everyone at the school applauded and a bunch of whooperups had a song! I think the whole town and twice over more were in the square! Did you see it, then?"

 

Mrs. Patmore smiled fondly at the young woman. "Yes, I managed to get outside for a few minutes, and it was quite the spectacle, indeed. But we can talk later--get your apron on and fall in."

\---

Those upstairs at Downton were easily settled to a drowsy breakfast.  
Next, Lady Grantham took the ladies to see the rose gardens, while Lord Grantham and his cohort enjoyed cards and war stories.  
It was a relaxing few hours.

\---  
Late-morning, though, Edith and Bertie returned with their group of friends in tow, which required much bustle as cases were taken to rooms. The footmen were in top gear.  
"How wonderful to live in such a bucolic setting," the one writer drawled. "How I love to be out in the country." He took up a glass of wine and seemed fully prepared to 'rough it.'

 

The maids, village girls for the most part now, hid giggling just beyond the baize door as the 'colorful' guests came by.  
Mainly, they looked rather plain. (Though with stories enough to paint them lurid.)  
But a few of the visitors seemed to think it necessary to reflect their bohemian lifestyles in their garb

 

The Nicolsons and Woolfs dressed sedately enough, but it was a relative unknown--Sarah Bennington--who caused the most comment.  
"She looks like she's in her night things," Anna whispered, giggling, as she shooed the others back to work. "Come on, you lot. We've work left to do."  
Lady Mary would come back for a late luncheon, Anna knew, and wouldn't she have something to say!

\---

The glitterati were all given rooms in the east end of the gallery and were left to settle in.

"So which of the footmen do you think 'makes time'? That one or the shorter one downstairs?" Sarah Bennington asked her chum as soon as the Andy left.  
They were sharing a room--at least unless Midge found other options--since Bennington had crashed the party at the last minute. 

"Now, hush, Sarah. You know better than that," Midge said, laughing. "She's a regular Mrs. Grundy, our Edith.  
"If you shock her too much tonight, you'll not have her patronage again."

 

Bennington rolled her eyes and did a flop on the bed. "These aristocrats with their artistic pretensions," she groaned. "As though organizing pages and paying for print makes them writers."  
"But Leonard thinks my stuff is good. I'll just go over to them and Vita."  
Midge shot her a glare. "I let you double with me to get you in the last minute. Behave or we'll both be banned."

 

"No one would care."  
Midge glared again. "This lot would. Behave."  
"All right. I'll be nice at dinner," Sarah allowed. "Let's hope there's something fun for after, though, or I'll be bored stiff." 

 

 

 


	26. Chapter 26

"It's here, Mr. Barrow," the footman said, handing over the morning paper.  
The temporary man's job was to iron the ink dry and the butler had promised him two shillings if he scanned for anything with the name 'Gregson' in it.  
"Thank you, Robbie. That'll be all.  
"Mr. Bates, could you see that the paper goes directly to his lordship's study, rather than the morning room? I know the guests like a share in the news, but Lord Grantham might want this bit under wraps until they leave," Mr. Barrow said. 

 

The others around the table nodded.  
Most of the guests would be packed off soon after breakfast. Nobles liked a good house party, but they had the manners to know when to leave.  
Lady Edith's writer friends had not only come late, but they intended to stay over another day, which extended the staff's labors.  
So it was to be a full breakfast this morning, followed by hampers and a moveable feast for that group later.

 

The staff shoveled in porridge, hoping to get enough before the bells began.

\----

Upstairs, Lady Edith had not slept well...which could be understood. She'd tossed and turned all night, keeping both herself and Bertie awake. 

Edith had realized over the course of these first years of marriage that she loved Bertie without reservation in a way that she had never felt before.  
She didn't merely feel 'useful'--which was the best she'd hoped from a marriage.  
She felt beloved. And it was all because of him.

 

But Michael?  
Whispering in the half light of morning, Edith tried to explain things.  
"I trusted him with my life at one point, Bertie," Edith said. "I need to trust him again with this secret. Both because it's the best gamble, and because it's the right thing to do."  
"If it ends badly, at least we've behaved the best that we could."

 

Bertie Pellham might be seen as a meek sort of fellow, but he had a core of honor and honesty that would not bend. As much as he wanted to protect Edith from this problem, he could see that she was right.  
"Tell Murray to have him visit Brancaster, but don't say why. We'll face him together," Bertie said, pulling her close.

\---

Another light was on in the bedrooms, this one in the east wing.

"We had fallen. It was extinct. There was no color. The Earth was dead.  
"That was the astonishing moment: and the next when as if a ball had rebounded, the cloud took color on itself again and so the light came back," Virginia scribbled rapidly in her notebook as her beloved husband snored in their bed.  
"Hmm...that's good. I can do with that," she mumbled to herself. A fit of productivity was upon her and she didn't want to waste a moment of it.  
She'd been in a low spot recently, but this journey north and the eclipse had been a tonic.  
Virginia scribbled on.

\---

Meantime, Lady Mary crept up the stairs to the nursery.  
Mary smiled to see Tom Branson already in residence. "Early risers, we two," she commented lightly. "I don't think I've seen this side of the clock so much in years."  
Tom smiled back at his sister in law. "Sybbie didn't much care for the black out, apparently," he said quietly, so as not to wake the sleeping child next to him.

"George adored it. Barrow told him a story where a ring of fire in the sky marked two children for great things," Mary smiled. She now trusted Barrow with her son more than anyone--even herself. Who would have fathomed that?

 

Mary went past to check the baby Violet. "I think Edith's news has me off my game. I know Nanny has things in hand, and there's no need to worry about a cold. But somehow I'm anxious.  
"Life can change so radically--just overnight."  
She paused.  
"I'm sorry to bother you, talking like this, but I can't really talk to Henry."

 

"Mary, you can tell Henry anything, and he'd understand," Tom started.  
"No," she interrupted. "Even if he would try on some things, Henry still doesn't know about Marigold. After that scene with Bertie back when, I vowed I'd keep my mouth shut concerning my 'dear' sister. (Sisters have secrets.)  
"So I can't talk to Henry about any of this. He just thinks it's some old beau of hers come back, not the crashing of a dynasty."

 

Branson didn't know what to say. For once, Mary was trying to show some sisterly bond, but she was doing it at a cost of not telling her husband an essential family secret.  
Tom sighed deeply. Sister Mary did always pick inconvenient times to show her principles.

\----

Around that time, another man and woman were having a less comfortable conversation.

"I want you, kitten. That's _'what I want.' _Unlike some of the people on this little junket, I like men...too." Sarah Bennington moved closer to Barrow, almost pinning him against the hallway wall.__  
  
The butler had come upstairs on a quick sweep through, liking to keep an eye out. But he certainly hadn't expected this reaction when he'd offered the (seemingly) lost guest his assistance.   
Thomas's face was a mask, though his eyes narrowed slightly in anger. 

____

____

"Come on, live wire, I know someone in this place must know how to have fun," she reached up and ran a fingernail along his cheek and down his jaw.

 

"Is something the matter?" The thin, chill voice echoed strangely in the quiet hall.  
Lady Mary was going back to her room from the nursery and had to travel through.  
Barrow felt his cheeks redden in embarrassment.  
But Sarah merely sneered and stepped back. "Don't blame Barrow, Lady Mary. We were just talking."

"Oh, I don't blame Barrow," Mary replied, standing there with an icey glare at the other woman.  
Sarah gave her daggers back, and moved to return to her room.

 

When the door finally closed, Lady Mary turned an appraising look on Barrow. She pressed her lips together to keep back a laugh. (Such a little-boy-caught-out look.)  
"My lady, I assure you," he heatedly began before she waved him off. (No, of course not.)

 

They held eye contact, and her ladyship's look became serious.  
"A long day ahead, Barrow," she managed finally.  
"Yes, my lady," he agreed with a nod.  
And they went their respective ways.

\---

Mary really couldn't understand how her sister could willingly associate herself with such people.  
"That Bennington woman is a vile, predatory creature," Lady Mary commented to Anna, as the maid got her officially dressed for the day. "And you can imagine poor Barrow's face."  
Mary was surprised to find herself getting absolutely furious on the butler's behalf.

 

"She was after Andy last night, my lady, which is why Mr. Barrow has him in the older guest's wing today," Anna supplied.  
"That infant?" Mary drawled. "Golly, and she's older than me."  
"I'm told by Daisy that her husband is quite the handsome man, thank you," Anna smiled.

Mary tilted her head, thinking for a moment.

 

"Perhaps Moseley can see to Lady Edith's guests for the duration?" Lady Mary suggested, finally--prompting a full laugh from them both.  
Poor Mr. Moseley.  
\---  
\---  
\---

The morning went quickly enough, with fond farewells to the old duffers of Lord Grantham's regiment.  
They'd had a wonderful couple of days of it. House parties were becoming a real rarity, except for deaths and marriages, and it was good to have one just to enjoy.  
The Crawleys might worry about finances as much as the next Lord, but they did stick to high standards when they did something.  
The party was a resounding success.

 

Now it was just to get through an exceedingly long day with the hangers on.  
Edith was especially irritated with her friends. She respected Vita's success and Virginia's talent, and knew they usually knew 'how it was done' socially.  
But apparently knowing wasn't always caring, especially with the younger members of the set.  
(One more day. Edith didn't know how much longer she could take it waiting for Murray to call.)

 

The group went for their picnic up near the Etruscan folly.  
It was a beautiful location, and tents had already been erected to guard against the weather. Woodland walks were nearby and should keep the writers enthralled with "nature in the raw."  
Mr. Carson was up, supervising the unloading of the hampers. He'd come the night before for dinner service, left for the cottage immediately after, and returned this morning.  
It was a busy time.

 

For once, Mr. Barrow had not seemed to mind in the slightest staying back at the Abbey for the lesser job of supervision there.  
Moseley and one of the temporaries (Robert? How awkward.) were serving champagne to start, keeping the guests occupied as they settled in.

\---

Back at the house, Andy came skittering up the hall to Thomas in a most unseemly manner, even with the family out of the house.  
"The solicitor phoned," Parker explained, out of breath.  
Mr. Barrow took the slip of paper and scanned it. No secrets revealed--good. "We can have one of the hall boys run it out for us. Tell him to place it directly in Mr. Carson's hands.  
"I know they've only been out an hour, but Lord Grantham will want to be interrupted for this."

 

And of course, Lord Grantham did--returning immediately to the Abbey with Edith and Bertie in tow. Together they called the attorney's office.  
As Edith expected, Michael Gregson's identity had been absolutely confirmed.  
"We need to speak to him directly," Lady Edith said over the wire. She had insisted on taking a turn talking after her father had the first of the news.

 

"I don't think that's possible, Marchioness," Murray replied. "I did ask if he would meet you for a signing of the papers. Obviously returning him to the land of the living and releasing his property will be a drawn out task.  
"But the attorney representing him was adamant. Michael Gregson doesn't want to meet with anyone. He's become somewhat of a recluse since his return, which I didn't protest too much, given that meeting with him might be awkward for you."

"Do try once more, Mr. Murray. I'm really most anxious to see him," Edith replied, a slight quiver in her voice.  
"I will, Marchioness, but I'm almost certain that the answer will remain the same," Murray said before ringing off.

 

"So the sword of Damocles is to hang over us," Edith groaned, looking to her husband. 

"You've both done more than what was required," Lord Grantham corrected her. "You can rest easy that he doesn't want to have contact, and have a defense if in the future he does.  
"Try to be content with that, my dear."

And there they were forced to leave it, for now.


	27. Chapter 27

Finally on their way home!

The house party had been an absolute disaster for Edith and Bertie--of course. There was no way to enjoy it, but it was still necessary to attend.  
What was it about the British that they felt the need to continue on stoically in the face of adversity?  
The Marquess of Hexham didn't feel stoic, though his face held its usual amiable smile.  
These past two weeks he'd wanted to groan, to yell, to run away with his wife and daughter to some foreign shore where they could live in safe anonymity.  
Instead, he'd helped his wife keep steady on.

 

The wind whipped at Bertie's hair, in spite of the glass, and he held a squirming Marigold a bit tighter.  
Edith was at the wheel.  
Bertie really could--and did-- drive sometimes. But his lovely wife enjoyed it, too, and Bertie enjoyed watching her and thinking of that first time she'd driven him round to Downton.  
The Marquess felt another surge of emotion roil through him, but tamped it safely down.  
She was so beautiful, his Edith. He'd do anything to make her happy.

 

"It'll be nice to get back to Brancaster," Edith said, speaking loudly to be heard over the roar of wind and engine. "Of course, I'd rather just keep driving to the end of England, but home will be nice, too."  
"Better than with your writer friends?" Bertie asked, teasing slightly.  
Edith had enjoyed going to London and inviting such people to dinner, but an entire weekend with them had pointed out their differences from her.

 

"I've been thinking," Edith said, glancing over. "I do enjoy publishing, having run the magazine. But this might be the time to start a fresh venture.  
"Perhaps I'll try my hand at writing. I did start out with a column, then got away from it.  
"If Michael truly doesn't want to meet, then perhaps I should cede the world of magazines to him, and try my hand at novels."

 

"Ah, a roman a clef, telling all the secrets of our class?" Bertie smiled and smoothed Marigold's windblown hair.  
The child reached up and patted at his face.

"Well, perhaps a few secrets," Edith joked. "Not enough to have me shunned from polite society, but enough to entertain the masses."  
"Virginia has some of that cornered with her latest, but my experiences aren't hers."

 

"It will be exciting, I'm sure," Bertie responded approvingly.  
The silence again came between them, and Marigold filled it with a game of counting cows.

"He will probably never call," Bertie said finally.  
"Oh, he will eventually," responded Edith. "I've told you from the start that my life is a complicated one. Problems may turn out well or ill, but they don't simply fall away--from me, at least."

 

\---

Out at the farm, another Bertie was enjoying the company of his lovely bride.  
Albert Mason had found himself quite lonesome these last two weeks.  
True, Beryl and the young people had come home to roost each night but one.  
However, the time was so fleeting that Bertie felt quite on his own again.

 

This morning, though, Beryl Mason was at home and bustling around the small kitchen in a way that quite filled it to the corners.  
A fine figure of a woman, Albert thought fondly.  
Mr. Mason still missed both his first wife and his son William. He found no inconsistencies in holding both his love of that family along with the love of this new one deep in his heart. 

 

Love is big enough to hold as many people as you want it to, Bertie Mason knew.  
He'd pulled Daisy into his orbit at the request of his son, but to his own delight he'd come to love her as surely as she'd been his own daughter.  
Then Andy'd popped in with the offer to learn to farm. Mr. Mason could have said no, should have said no, for the lad was city born and bred.  
But there was something of William in the handsome lad, and he'd allowed Andy the chance.

 

His biggest prize, though, stood before him.  
Beryl's hair was escaping its bun as she scurried about getting their food. It flew in a red halo around her flushed cheeks. Her eyes danced, her feet raced. She was all a crackling bundle of energy in one five foot package.  
"What're you staring at, you daft man?" she teased him, voice a rebuke, but smile a welcome.  
"Just you, love. Just you." And he came behind her to give her a slight squeeze. (Ah! No corset!)

 

"I'll nip out to the barn, but I'll be back in a moment. That smells too delicious to wait."  
Bertie regretfully pulled on his hat.  
A farmer's life was demanding in its own right, but he felt alarmingly content.  
A patter of feet behind him, then a firm kiss on his cheek. "Hurry up, you silly fool. I'll be waiting." And she was there and gone.


	28. Chapter 28

"I'm glad you found the descriptions of our rather curious visitors interesting. It doesn't surprise me that you'd never heard of them, philistine that you are. I suppose it's up to me to once again widen your perspectives," wrote Thomas in his letter to Jimmy.

"Anyway, our girl Daisy is still seeing omens in clouds and mysteries around kitchen corners  
"While the recent two events are really not all that worthy of the label 'disasters' (unlike the return of a man from the grave), they are newsworthy by Downton standards, so I include them herewith for your reading pleasure."

\---  
\---

  

That July Henry Talbot was taking full advantage of being freed from his cage by roaming wild and free across northern England and the midlands searching for suppliers whom Morris might gobble up.  
It had, indeed, turned into a vast network of suppliers since the early days when parts were manufactured on the same site as assembly. Now, the sites were quite far flung.

Frankly, Talbot didn't care who made the things.  
He just enjoyed the game of making contacts, of talking to people, of flashing a smile and being rewarded by poking into corners where few "car men" got to look.  
And sometimes he just snooped on the competition...for fun.

One such trip took him to Manchester, where he'd not only had a good run at a factory, but a delightfully low key lunch with some fellow auto enthusiasts at a rather grubby pub with excellent food. (Mary would be appalled.)

 

The problem was that Henry was at the wrong place at the wrong time.  
Rather, he was nearly at the wrong place.  
The sound of people shouting first alerted the men to a problem nearby. That and the sound of horns.  
Henry Talbot threw down some cash and raced to the door.  
Outside was bedlam. 

"What's happening? Why is everyone running?" he asked as a man raced frantically by.  
"A flood." The man gasped out. "The canal embankment at Mills Hill has collapsed." The man turned and ran on up the street.  
Talbot was on high ground where he stood, but he knew that if Mills Hill had collapsed, millions of gallons of water were now headed toward the river.  
While Henry knew himself to be safe, he didn't think it right not to give aid. So he joined the citizens racing to the affected area, bound to help those needing rescue.

 

Of course, back home no one knew of Henry's predicament.  
At Talbot's scheduled time of return, Tom Branson went to the station expecting his train. But when none came, he made inquiries, knowing Mary would most certainly be upset if he came home without her husband in tow.

By then the flood was common knowledge at the depot, since waters had swept down to the tracks--not cutting them, but still making travel an uneasy affair.  
Some of the freight was still going through, but they'd delayed passengers until things were more certain.

\----

"What do you mean, there's a flood?" Mary asked him, perturbed, when Tom brought home the news. 

"There's not a reason to worry. The factory Henry went to see is in a different part of the city than the gas works, but there has been a flood delaying the trains," Tom offered.  
Himself, he was wondering if the flood waters were really as contained as he'd been told.  
Early reports were still sketchy. 

 

"But how can an embankment collapse?" she repeated, as though by denying the news, she could change the reality.  
In a rare display of emotion, Mary looked overwhelmed and frightened both.

"Those poor people," Lady Grantham interjected. "When we send a car for Henry, we'll have to send supplies."  
"I'm not sure we can send a car for Henry," Branson said as gently as he could. "I thought to go myself, of course, so that he didn't have to wait. But the station master said cars are being asked to stay away by the police, at least for the night."  
" I'll see if I can get through tomorrow. Or perhaps by then the passenger trams will be back."

\---

Talbot, meantime, was in a stew.  
He'd tried to get out to the hotel he'd been at the night before--the George--and found it sitting in several feet of water.  
Barrels of beer were floating by, as Henry tried to gather belongings and find shelter for the night.  
He needed to get a message home, but telephones were so overloaded that Henry finally decided to find a telegraph office to tell his loved ones he would be home the next day.

And fortunately, he did manage that return, though rather abashed at the fuss he'd caused.

\---

It was, according to Mr. Barrow, much ado about nothing.  
Daisy, however, saw this as proof of the eclipse's prediction of "doom."  
"I wonder what else'll happen to us?" she'd asked Thomas as they shared a cuppa in the butler's office.  
"It's just like when the Titanic was followed by the Turkish gentleman. Troubles come in groups, you'll see."

"My mum always said 'troubles come in threes,' but we didn't have a third problem back then, so it must just be a saying," Barrow replied, enjoying his ginger biscuit.  
"You don't call a war a problem?" Daisy returned smartly.  
And the two began an animated discussion on how long, exactly, of a time span between events could be allowed to prove or disprove a superstition.

 

\---

Sure enough, another minor "event" came, this one closer to home: they'd nearly lost Lord Grantham. Literally.

Robert had spent his life rambling the properties of his estate with one faithful dog or another at his side.  
So when, in spite of the summer heat, he decided to take Tia out to the woodlands, no one gave in a moment's thought.  
"I know every stick and stone of this dear and lovely place," Lord Grantham had been heard to boast on more than one occasion.

 

However, Mr. Barrow was certainly alarmed when Tia came up to him in the courtyard in mid afternoon.  
The dog coming home without her master?  
"What's wrong, girl? Where's his lordship?" Thomas asked the dog --though, of course, he didn't expect an answer. He frowned as he worked through the odds.  
Barrow felt sure it meant that Lord Grantham was injured somewhere.

 

The butler went immediately and informed Mr. Branson of the concern  
"Go gather three or four people you trust to search and have them wait in the servants hall," Branson decided. "I'll call Mr. Talbot and Lady Mary. She can decide if she wants to wait to tell her mother."

Before they set off, Thomas asked Mr. Bates if his lordship has given any indication of where he might go rambling that day.  
"The woodlands," Bates said. "Lord Grantham made a joke about being 'old and played out,' so I'm sure he won't cut cross country.  
"But Thomas, I've noticed his lordship's been a bit forgetful in taking care of things recently. I'm sure he's been a bit unwell-- probably nothing--but he may have gotten sick along the route."

 

Even though he, himself had come to the same conclusion, Barrow tried to keep his concern to himself. "We're all feeling our age a bit these days," the butler replied. "Perhaps he's just resting."  
And so Lord Grantham was.

 

Between the information from Bates and the very willing help of Tia, the searchers soon found the older man safe--just sitting on a stile enjoying the evening breeze, 'played out.'

When Mary tried to chastise him for causing concern, Lord Grantham became defensive and even a bit belligerent.  
"Can't a man have the run of his own estate any more?" he'd finally shouted in disgust and left the room.  
"This isn't like Robert," Lady Cora said to her sons-in-law and daughter.  
And they all had to agree.

 

\---

"Always believe your mum," Daisy said as she brought Mr. Barrow his tea the next day.  
"He was just slow coming home. That's not a crisis," Thomas firmly squashed her.  
"A man's dog doesn't come fetch help for no reason," Daisy replied. "And Mr. Bates said the family's worried, so I'm not alone in that."  
With a nod, Daisy scurried off.


	29. Chapter 29

Thomas was at loose ends as summer waned.  
His last two letters to Jimmy had gone unanswered, which upset him more than he cared to admit. ("He's busy, not in trouble," the logical part of his brain tried to reason.)  
And the boredom of normality --after the heightened days of the eclipse-- dragged him down.  
Impulsive as ever, Barrow's emotions threatened to take over--he had to be careful to not take it out on those around him at the Abbey.

 

Thomas was not unaware of how well things were going at this point in his life compared to many times in the past.  
He almost didn't want to acknowledge it, for fear of losing it all.  
Barrow had always been his own worst enemy and had sabotaged himself more times than he cared to admit.  
He was trying very hard to not do that now.

 

One good thing, Barrow realized, was that Mr. Carson seemed quite amenable to staying away from the job of butler.  
Before this Carson had still stopped by periodically to 'glance through things' even when no party was scheduled. This had always felt, to Thomas, like a schoolmaster auditing exams.  
("Your inventories are adequately done, Mr. Barrow, but the selection of wines for this week's menus is not up to par.")

After the eclipse, however, when Mr. Carson stopped by he'd taken the tack of having tea with his wife, dropping off something he thought might be 'useful to Barrow,' and departing without further comment.  
Progress indeed. He might never get the older man's approval, but at least Thomas now seemed to have his full confidence. (More than he'd ever got from his father.)

 

Another good thing was Daisy.  
Daisy Parker was very definitely Andy's wife. Thomas still occasionally caught them making eyes at one another and sneaking a kiss. (He'd perfected a raised eyebrow with a tutting noise, but no longer gave a lecture.)

However, Daisy Parker was also very definitely the female most responsible for keeping Thomas's life in order.  
Daisy started his day with tea and biscuits, since she knew he didn't wake easily.  
("You're worse than Andy, you are. Both of you look like you'd prefer nothing more than to sleep til noon.")

He'd noticed that she now ran interference with Mrs. Patmore and even Mrs. Hughes on occasion, saving him quite a few headaches by getting matters sorted before they reached his desk.  
And the menus suddenly started featuring things for which he'd stated a preference...sometimes from discussions a dozen years past.  
("Of course I remember you saying your mother fixed lamb stew on Sundays. Why wouldn't I remember you saying it?")

 

Thomas was very glad that Daisy was very definitely Andy Parker's wife, or he would have thought she had "intentions."  
Finally, though, Thomas came to know that this was what Daisy saw as a proper sort of grown up friendship. (When did she grow up?)  
Daisy Parker had an absolutely enormous heart hidden beneath that silly chatter and sometimes fiery temper.  
She was the defender of the downtrodden, and also the defender of everyone whom she considered friends and family.

 

And of course Daisy was now deep in a conspiracy with Phyllis Baxter. 

 

Thomas should have recognized this sooner, except he'd had so few true relationships in his rather miserable early adulthood that he didn't know the signs of people working behind his back...for his own good.  
He'd wondered earlier when they'd all stopped being afraid to touch him--touch was not a common thing among nobles, so those in service emulated that behavior.  
But Phyllis and Thomas both had come from working families. And he came to realize that the shy woman was now not only unafraid to take his arm... She was actively making sure to pat his shoulder or lean against him frequently.  
It shocked him.

 

Moreover, Daisy had taken to trying this out.  
And now Anna had even done it once or twice.  
("You're good with boys, Mr. Barrow. Take Johnny here for a moment til I get my things off," and she'd plumped the baby in his arms and positioned the butler's hand 'just so,' then smiled and patted him reassuringly for good measure.)

 

Thomas went from a decade of no one ever touching him at all, to suddenly feeling rather like a well petted house cat.  
So far the women had been remarkably skilled at judging his tolerance for such things. And he could always go in his office and shut the door.  
Mr. Barrow was rather irritated when he realized the scheme, but by that time he'd rather grown to like them. (Which irritated him even more.)  
It was making him itchy, all this.

 

So even though Thomas was at loose ends that summer, fretting especially about the lack of London news (and a different sort of touching), he kept desperately reminding himself of his good luck.  
Trying to hang on and not do something foolish, because that was what he feared he would do.


	30. Chapter 30

Yet the 'itchy' feeling remained.  
Thomas Barrow sat in his room in the attics and tried to catch a little of the breeze that came through by opening his door to the hall.  
It was just a tendril of air, really. A promise of being cooled that was never kept .  
Miserable.

 

Thomas slammed his book shut.  
He was the only senior male servant still living in the attics.  
Bates went home of a night. Andy. (Moseley and Carson, too, though it was rather unclear if they even counted any more.)  
Yet Thomas was still on call to supervise a handful of children who probably would be gone themselves soon.

 

Barrow was not feeling very satisfied with his life that night.  
He knew he should be. He again (AGAIN) counted the many improvements of that year over in his head.  
But it was hot and lonely and Thomas so did need to have someone with whom he could be more than friends.

So he uncoiled his legs and stood.  
If nothing else, he'd take a prowl around.  
Perhaps that would keep at bay the loose ends feeling rattling round in his skull. 

 

\---

Mary Crawley had hastily pulled on the lightest thing she could find to wear.  
It was miserably hot, even in the bedrooms off the gallery.  
At least she didn't have to worry about waking Henry. As was fashionable, they slept apart.  
Mary had been very loving and protective of Henry since the scare with the flood.  
But still she slept alone.

 

It was cooler outside, and Mary went immediately down the path to Matthew's bench.  
She continued to think of it as such--Matthew's bench--where they'd had so many talks.  
Mary Crawley (Talbot) might be another man's wife now, but in her heart she was still Matthew's bride.  
How silly to have her heart held by a man long gone, but there it was. (She'd thought she'd made peace with it, but there it was.)  
Perhaps that was why her new marriage could never seem to settle into anything more.

 

Or maybe it was just that Henry was essentially an adventurer--a wild, romantic figure--and she'd captured him and settled him into a box labeled 'married man.'  
Mary had never intended this.  
She hadn't asked him to give up his passion, just to live with her while he continued on with it.  
But they'd known, even if they hadn't admitted it, that passions had to give way for practicalities when married.

\----

Already up the path, Thomas leaned against the tree and smoked.  
He'd tried to smoke less these days; Miss Sybbie said straight out that it smelled 'nasty' and he didn't want to ever put off a child.  
It was only to relieve stress anyway.  
And a cigarette at midnight wouldn't kill anyone; he'd be changed into his livery before the tiny aristocrat came down to call.

 

"Barrow?"  
The voice startled him, and he swung around ready to defend himself.  
"It is you, isn't it?" Lady Mary came out of the shadows of the path.  
"Great minds must think alike," she said lightly, not mentioning that neither of them should be anywhere near where they currently were.

 

"The heat, my lady, but I'm going back in now," Thomas replied as he prepared to abandon the field. 

"No, stay for a moment. I shouldn't be out here anyway, and maybe it's for the best that you're here, too.  
"I was taking the overlook path." She inclined her head by way of an invitation; Barrow nodded and quietly joined in at her side.

"I'm sorry if the staff was disturbed by that adventure of my father's."  
"My lady?" he questioned.  
"He seems to be fine now, of course. But I did appreciate that you organized things so quickly when we thought he needed aid. Good job, you." Mary said smiled up at the butler. He really was one of the few people who earned her genuine smile. 

  


"Thank you, my lady," Thomas said, relaxing slightly.  
It was an extraordinarily odd feeling to walk with Lady Mary, and the time lent it the quality of a dream.  
She'd fought his corner when her father first had thought to get rid of the under butler position. And she'd brought her son to him when he was especially low.  
Lady Mary might be seen as heartless by most, but Thomas understood that she was not. She was a lot like him. (Though he felt impertinent to even think it.)

 

They continued on like that, quietly for some time.  
("It's good to have someone who doesn't give way to idle talk," she thought.)  
"Thank you, Barrow, for accompanying me," Lady Mary said as they made the circuit back.  
Mary entered the front, and Thomas started to go around to the back.

But then he swerved, continuing to walk on down the path.


	31. Chapter 31

Of course he regretted it.  
Thomas's last two letters crackled in his chest pocket, and he could feel them rub at his guilt with every beat of his heart.  
He needed to write back, but he didn't know what to say.

 

Jimmy hated to admit to Thomas that he AGAIN was facing problems.  
Yes, there was gambling and drink, but that wasn't the worst of it.  
The Cafe was the top of the heap, and here Jimmy faced competition more fierce than at any other London spots he'd played.  
He was afraid to fail.

 

Before, Jimmy had always been the most handsome man in any room (though Thomas himself had been keen competition). He'd turned eyes with his looks and sealed the deal with his talent.  
At the Cafe there were quite a few handsome men with talent. Fresh, younger men.  
Jimmy Kent, who only appeared sure of himself, found himself feeling like a dogsbody in a world of cinema kings.

 

Thomas had total faith in him, Jimmy knew. And he didn't want his friend to know that the faith might be unwarranted.  
He loved Thomas--as a friend, he hastened to add. (He'd read his Freud...at least the highlights. He just needed to mature out of it.)  
Jimmy knew he needed to write back immediately, that he was long overdue.  
But first he had to settle his mind once again. 

 

Jimmy Kent took a stool at the Cafe, ordered whiskey neat, and winked at the titsy blonde who walked by swishing her glad rags.  
The swirl of music and giddy laughter washed past him, leaving him alone.  
Swilling down the drink, he got up to follow her.  
There was a point of honor to be proved, and Jimmy Kent was the man to do it.

\---

At Downton, drinks and debauchery took a much milder form.

Cards at the games keeper's cottage had reached such popularity that even John Bates decided to have a go.  
Bates had been a bit of a gambler in his misguided youth, and he knew that in poker he could easily wipe that smug look off Thomas Barrow's face. (Still a lovely challenge.)

 

"We had to give up on Pontoon," Andy informed Mr. Bates. "Mr. Barrow knows how to keep track of numbers too well and none of the rest of us ever had a chance."  
It had been a point of argument earlier, but now the gardener just laughed.  
"He's a smart one, your butler," Edward Pipwick said. "Came in all slicked back and innocent and fleeced the lot of us the first few times.  
"But now we know about you fellows from the house."

 

Old Pip looked Bates up and down. "We won't be caught out so easy this time."  
Bates gave a small smile. The valet always maintained a cool and consistent strategy--a point at which he'd surpass the impulsive Barrow.  
(They might have to ban poker, too, unless they were better than he thought.)

 

"Besides I kept yelling 'twist' when I should have yelled 'stick,' so everyone got quite put out," explained Andy. "I'm not much better at this, but it's not so obvious." The others laughed again. (It was obvious, very obvious, that Andy was rubbish at cards. They liked the young man, however, and so let him play along.)

 

"It's good of you to let me come. Time has been passing rather slowly for us at the Abbey." Bates settled in around the table.  
"I have a feeling that time always slows at Downton's threshold," Joe Miller commented.  
"We do take a cautious pace with change," Bates admitted.  
"Some of us," Thomas added.

 

"Ah yes, except for our mysterious Mr. Barrow. Are you up to some devilment again, Thomas?" Bates picked up his cards and studied them.  
"It will be a change of silver pattern, no doubt," Miller jibed.

 

Joe wasn't sure if he and Thomas Barrow were friends yet or not. He did know that they'd stopped being enemies after the first two nights 'round the card table.  
The man he'd thought of as a cruel bastard was actually a great deal like himself.  
Barrow was sarcastic and smart, cuttingly honest, but he also was kind enough to Andy to merit Joe Miller's second look.  
It had been a pleasant spring getting to know Thomas Barrow.

 

"I think it must be hard to work at the big house, what with all the rules," Joe continued.  
"As opposed to the freedom you all have, mucking about in the woods," Thomas countered.  
"What is it you think we do?" Old Pip asked, taking a large draught and two cards.  
"Chasing quail. Harvesting. Such as that." Thomas said blandly.  
"I've rosebushes worth as much as any piece of plate you handle, follies as old and historic to preserve, a show quite as big as the one you put on inside," Old Pip said, in what was obviously an ongoing conversation.  
"Cheers," said Joe.

 

"One card," interjected Bates. "It is rather difficult to work at the Abbey, but I'm sure what you do is difficult, too. Andy regales us with the tribulations of farming, and I'm sure everyone has some difficulties whatever their job."

Joe looked over and studied Thomas. He waited until the man felt the scrutiny and looked up, then raised an eyebrow and gave what he intended to be a suggestive look. (Plush lips smiling.)  
Barrow immediately went red and ducked his head. He made a slight rolling motion, as though to loosen tight muscles in his neck.  
"God, how easy it is to throw him," Miller thought, amused.  
"I'll raise," he said.

 

"How's your lovely wife these days, Mr. Bates? I see her sometimes when I bring in game for Mrs. Patmore." Joe fiddled with his cards.  
"Quite well, thank you," John replied. "And so are all the rest."  
"Mrs. Patmore loves Joe," Andy supplied as he tried to figure out what to do with his game. "She saves him extra biscuits in a jar by the door." They chuckled at his envious tone.  
"I'm sure you get your share of the wealth when it comes to sweets," Joe said easily. "But I do love Mrs. Patmore." He lowered his voice confidentially, "mustn't let old Mason know. He'd string me up."

 

Andy and Pip laughed uproariously at the thought.  
Bates merely smiled, unsure if he should defend Mrs. Patmore's honor or not....but assuming not.  
Joe reached back to pour himself a drink, motioning the bottle to the rest. After topping off Pip and Samuelson, he leaned over to add more to Thomas's cup.  
"I don't need any more, thank you," Thomas said. "You're just trying to win by getting me drunk."  
"You? Drunk? Never," Joe replied in a perfectly neutral tone. 

 

"Now, Jimmy, perhaps," suggested Andy. "How is Jimmy these days, Mr. Barrow? He was good to play with when he was here."  
Miller laughed outright.  
Thomas was almost angry in his reply. "He's busy, Andy. You know he's still doing the same thing he was before."

"I need to fold," Andy said, oblivious. 

Joe sat back and enjoyed a long look at Thomas.  
He was quite the most beautiful man he'd ever seen, though a bit of a prude.  
Mr. I-had-a-duke-for-breakfast was one of those believers in true romance.  
Joe was not. He had made a go of life as a matter of practicality.

 

Survival was based on understanding that he'd rarely meet anyone who was 'like' him. He had made 'friends' of various married men in town whose wives didn't wish to perform certain pleasurable acts. (He'd kept their secret, which in turn was his security.)  
Sometimes there'd be a farm laborer working through who shared his interests.  
It all came down to not being impulsive and enjoying the opportunities as they came. 

 

"One card," Thomas said, an edge still in his voice.  
Joe just smirked and leaned back in his chair, staring.  
Thomas caught the look and clenched his jaw.  
"Call," said Samuelson.

Joe Miller was enjoying the game.


	32. Chapter 32

-  
-  
Thankfully, the seasons continued on one after the other (as seasons were wont to do).  
The heat that had left everyone half crazed gave way to cooler breezes. The leaves changed and dropped.  
Harvest came in and school was scheduled to start. 

It was near the start of school that Miss Baxter came quietly into Mr. Barrow's office and closed the door behind her.  
He looked up and his eyes widened at her pale and nervous appearance.  
She sat. Thomas waited.  
The silence stretched on so long that Barrow wished he dared light up a cigarette within the office confines.  
Instead he took some pity on his friend sitting, twisting her handkerchief in her hands. 

 

"So did he finally ask you then?" Thomas said with a slight hint of sarcasm.  
Her head jerked up and for one brief moment her upset face made him doubt the accuracy of his guess. (He hurt her? He hurt Phyllis? Thomas felt an unexpected rush of rage.)

"How did you know?" Miss Baxter asked. "I didn't even know he'd ask. I didn't expect he'd ask. Not after all this time." Baxter stuttered to a stop.  
Ah....Barrow relaxed and chuckled.  
"How did you NOT expect Mr. Moseley would ask you to marry him? I've almost done it FOR him at dinner this last year.  
"Got him to take you on your first date, after all." 

 

Miss Baxter didn't laugh, however. She continued to sit, twisting her handkerchief, apprehensive and vulnerable. (At least she's not crying, he thought.)  
"What did you say, Phyllis?" Mr. Barrow said encouragingly. "I'd assumed you'd say yes. You seem to like the old goat, though he's half daft to me."  
His friend chewed her lip for a moment.  
"I said 'thank you'....I think," she muttered finally.

 

Thomas snorted. "Well, that's polite at least."  
He leaned back and let her catch her breath.  
Let the ticking clocks do their work.  
A soft burst of conversation bled through the door-- Mrs. Patmore squawking, calling Daisy 'Cleopatra, queen of denial.'  
But no one would bother them. 

 

Finally he prompted. "What do you think you'd want to say, then?"  
"Yes," she replied in almost a whisper.  
"Well that's fine then," Thomas said softly. "But there's no rush. He certainly won't be marrying anyone else soon."  
The words were mocking, but Barrow felt himself being oddly gentle with Phyllis Baxter.  
She could take his harshness--well he knew, having been outright cruel in the past.  
But she deserved every bit of good he could scrape together, especially if she was upset. 

 

"There is a rush, though. He has to arrange the housing. That's how it came up," she said tentatively.  
"Romantic, that." Thomas frowned. "Maybe I should beat the fool after all."  
Miss Baxter smiled slightly, and reached to squeeze his hand.  
"You don't have to beat him, but maybe could you walk me back down? Not to say anything, but just as a sort of moral support?"

 

So Thomas Barrow walked his friend (sister) Phyllis Baxter back down the path to the village.  
The crisp air smelled of burning leaves and in the dusk the children were playing.  
As they got to Moseley's cottage, Thomas leaned down and murmured in her ear, "I'll sit here on the wall and wait for you. Right outside here."  
And as the door closed behind her, Thomas said gently, "You're stronger than you think."

An hour later she came out, smiling joyfully with her fiance on her arm.

\---

They were married at the registry with so little fanfare that it was almost as though it hadn't happened.  
Lady Grantham loaned Miss Baxter a finely patterned shawl to wear around her shoulders, and told the gardener to make a bouquet of lilies for her to carry.  
But Thomas and old Mr. Moseley were their only witnesses.  
Mrs. Patmore cooked a special dinner, of course, though it was served at regular time--allowing Moseley to walk up after his duties ended. 

 

Mainly, the fuss was made in moving Miss Baxter down to her new lodgings. Gifts of silly items--vases, rugs, the like--substituted for ceremony. (Mr. and Mrs. Moseley were practical people and appreciated the gestures immensely.)

When Phyllis saw that Mr. Barrow was standing apart from the rest, she went up and leaned into him. "Now you've three homes to come to and share a meal when you've retired. Of course, we'll all still be together daytimes. Nothing's changed.  
"But this widens our families in the future, doesn't it?" And she pulled him back to the group.

 

\---

A light crust of snow covered the graves as Daisy entered the cemetery a few weeks later.  
She'd come down to return some books Mr. Moseley had lent, but she also wanted to take a moment to put a flower on William's grave.  
Putting it down, her hands felt uncomfortably empty. What was she doing here when there were tasks to be done? She needed to get back to the big house.

Daisy fidgeted and half turned, bit her lip and turned back.  


 

She'd been thinking of William a lot recently, thoughts of him overlapping with thoughts of Andy.  
They were alike, those two. How did anyone who started life as badly as Daisy ever come across two handsome men who wanted her as wife?  
It was like destiny had spit on her for so long, then suddenly decided that she would win the big prize. Daisy didn't trust such luck, but she had decided to enjoy it.  
Love was wonderful and awful, comforting and scary. It was ever so confusing.  
But it had all changed First with William's kindness, so she adjusted the wreath 'just so' and patted the gravestone softly, sending him thanks. 

She had many thoughts and worries racing around in her head, had Daisy, but there was work to be done and that had to take precedence over any foolish woolgathering.  
Daisy left to get on with the day.

\---

Anna Bates had a surprise already underway for Christmas, and she was fairly giggling at the thought of her husband's face when she revealed it.  
One morning while dressing Lady Mary, they'd been talking about how big Johnny was getting.  
Such a stout little chap.  
Without thinking, she'd commented on Mr. Bates carrying Johnny to the big house each morning.  
  
Realizing that it sounded like a complaint, Anna had immediately tried to turn the conversation back.  
"It must be difficult, though, now that John junior is bigger. I never thought," Lady Mary had said, cutting through the denials.  
"You know, Anna, Edith learned to drive, so it can't be all that hard. Perhaps you should, too."

 

It was the obvious plan, except that cars were not in their budget. However, Mary came up with a solution to that problem before Anna even voiced it.  
"And you know, you wouldn't even have to get a car. We have that old one that Tom keeps to tinker on. We'll ask him if he and Henry can get it running for you and Bates to use."

 

Mr. Branson and Mr. Talbot thought it a 'jolly' surprise. Branson had always like Anna, and Talbot knew how special she was to his wife.  
So the two men worked on the jalopy, while secretly giving Anna driving lessons themselves. ("I taught both Sybil and Edith, you know," Branson remarked with a grin. "I've found women can drive as well as men can.")

Anna wasn't quite sure that she could keep from the secret escaping her, but she was certainly going to try. It promised to be a first rate Christmas for the Bates family.

\---

As the weather grew colder, there were many Christmas plans afoot. 

Andy was with Mr. Barrow in the office, putting together the rather complicated innards of a mantel clock.  
Thomas still sometimes was surprised by Andy's easy way with a smile. To have that kind of inner joy and confidence--how did that happen? And he knew it wasn't merely a show.  
The younger man practically hummed while he worked.  
Andy had crafted the clock case out of hardwood from the farm. (Daisy had cried when a tree came down, so Andy had saved a chunk of the wood for this express use.)  
The carving was well done--far better than those you'd find in a shop. 

 

Now the two men were fitting together bits and pieces inside to make it run.  
And again Andy was surprising Barrow with his abilities. He might have been slow to pick up books, but Parker was one of the brightest lads he'd ever met at working with his hands.  
"Pity you didn't start out working in clocks," Mr. Barrow said without thinking. "You'd own the shop by now."

 

"Barrow and Parker, clock makers," Andy grinned back. "Wouldn't that be fine?"  
"Course you're above that level, and I've got my hands full enough. But it has a nice ring to it.  
"Daisy'll like this, don't you think?"

\---

And they went on to discuss holiday gifts with a fervor that Thomas had never before had.  
He was happy. He had friends. He needed to work on his gift giving skills...heretofore rather atrophied from disuse. 

Everyone knew Anna and Phyllis were knitting away in the servants hall.  
They'd hastily tuck away their projects whenever anyone came close.  
From last year, Thomas had a neck scarf in what Andy'd jokingly dubbed 'Barrow blue.' (Miss Baxter had nearly killed him by unwittingly revealing it was the same color as a night shirt he'd had as a knobby-kneed four years old.)  
Barrow expected similarly colored socks this year.

 

Thomas had Andy a pocket watch, with a face in miniature of the clock on which they'd labored. He'd ordered Jimmy recordings of a band he'd mentioned when he'd (FINALLY) written. The ladies would have to make do with silk scarves, (though he'd added a small enameled daisy pin with Daisy's.)  
He was clueless if these were right or not.

It was almost enough to make him ask for advice. Almost. 

(Thomas still needed to add something for Phyllis and figure out something for Joe. And, of course, the children, but little ones would be easy.)  
Barrow's mind overloaded when he thought of it all.

 

\---

The big secret on the men's side--which Barrow, of course, had overheard--was that John Bates was planning a night at a cozy inn with his wife.  
Not an inn owned by anyone they knew, but a bit of a working holiday any way, Thomas thought cynically.  
Still, it had taken the arrangement of a day off and the blessings of both his lordship and Lady Mary to make the gift become reality.  
Bates was chuffed.

 

Thomas also knew about Anna's driving lessons. (He liked to keep an eye out.)  
And the butler was looking forward to the shock on both their faces.  
Even at the holidays, it would be good to see Bates taken down a peg or two, outdone by his wife.


	33. Chapter 33

-  
-  
=  
Daisy had been afraid of it earlier in the winter when she'd visited William's grave, but the fear at that point had been misplaced.  
Now, however, it was another scare and the young wife was sure---she was with child.  
In the kitchen, she angrily banged at the pots and stomped round the cupboards.

Daisy Parker remembered how it was to be hungry in the times before Downton when she'd been cold and afraid.  
That left her with a wide streak of fear buried deep, deep inside her usually strong character.

 

What Daisy loved most was the sense of stability in Downton's stone walls.  
That's why she'd stayed cooking instead of trying for something better each time she'd had the chance.  
She pushed her boundaries quite a distance, but never left these roots she'd managed to put down.

 

Andy added to that sense of security.  
("I'll take care of us," he'd promised. "You don't need to worry any more about ever facing anything alone.")  
But a baby?  
"I can't have a baby," Daisy whispered, appalled.  
"There's already too much to be done and too little time to do it in."

 

Daisy stood over the soup pot, giving it a particularly vigorous stir.  
"Double, double, toil, and trouble," smirked Mr. Barrow as he briefly looked in to coordinate the progress.  
"I'm not a witch, you," the young cook griped.

Andy ducked in and shrugged his shoulders in answer to Barrow's look.  
The two went out and whispered in the hall. ("She's been like that the week," Thomas commented. "I've tried to get it out of her," Andy replied.)

But dinner was dinner and service had to go on.

 

Later Andy found her in the servants hall, staring sightlessly with overflowing eyes.  
He moved forward, as if approaching a wild thing, for given Daisy's recent mood this seemed a reasonable plan.  
"Now Daisy, you must..." he got out before she gave a slight, soggy whimper and moved forward to clutch at his lapels.

"Daisy, love, what is it?" Andy murmured gently, awkwardly patting the tiny woman.  
(And she WAS tiny, the bones of her shoulder as breakable as a bird's.)  
"Here, sit back down and let me get out a handkerchief to dry you off. You're soaking me through."  
His voice was as soothing as he could make it, trying to lull her with the sound.

 

Seated together, Daisy still leaned into him.  
Andy sighed in mystification at it all. Daisy was usually so pert.  
The young man half pulled away as she took his hand and put it to her belly. But then he understood.  
"I don't know what to do, Andy. I really, truly don't know what to do."  
His Daisy looked up at him with reproachful eyes.

 

"But it's wonderful news, Daisy. Why on earth are you crying?" Andy asked, grinning from ear to ear.  
"People die having babies," Daisy wailed. "Lady Sybil, me mum. Anna had to go to London. It's not like in the pictures, you know."  
"And you, I want to murder you, I do, for getting me in such a fix."  
Daisy smacked him hard on the shoulder.

 

Andy laughed.  
If he had something like that kicking around inside him, he might be close to murder, too. Who knew?  
This business of life was a strange thing.  
"Now Daisy girl," he started, giving her a squeeze. "There are lots of women who've had babies, far more than haven't. Think of how thrilled Anna was."  
"And I know it seems a rather dirty trick at this point, but the end result is fine."

 

"But how will I manage it?" Daisy said, blubbing again. "They won't want OUR baby upstairs."  
"Well....we'll manage. I like babies. We all do. It'll work out."  
And Andy let her cry her frustrations out before going to find Thomas with the news.  
It was both frightening and exciting, this life.  
And they were in the thick of it.

\----

News of a different impending birth was taken much more calmly upstairs. 

The Marquess and Marchioness of Hexham were stopping by Downton on their way to London-- and from there a vacation abroad--when they dropped the news.  
"You should have heard Bertie's mother," Edith laughed when Cora apologized for her enthusiasm. "It was quite the show to see Mother Hexham so undone."  
Bertie joined in the laughter.

 

"But should you travel?" Cora asked her.  
"Mama, it's not last century. Women don't have to be kept behind closed doors for their entire time," Edith answered smartly.  
"But we'd like to ask if you could keep Marigold with you for a bit," suggested Bertie. "It isn't necessary, and you can certainly say no, but we thought it might be better for her here than wandering about."

Lord Grantham rose to his feet and rang for drinks. "Golly, it's wonderful news all round," he said, smiling broadly. "You'll soon have an heir and we get time with Marigold."

 

Edith smiled, glad that her parents approved.  
She looked over at her sister and tensed for the fight.  
"Well, I'm not sure how much better our nursery is for Marigold than enriching her with travels, but George and Sybbie will be happy," Lady Mary said finally.  
"Sybbie won't be happy. She'll be thrilled," commented Tom Branson. "And we'll make sure that Marigold has the best time of any little girl ever."

 

Edith smiled gratefully at her brother in law.  
"It's not just to get away before the baby," Edith admitted. "Michael's name has been in the news almost constantly this month, what with him finally getting out and around in public again.  
"I know we'll cross paths eventually, and I'm prepared for it, but it will be nice to not have reminders of our dangers pushed in my face daily with each paper delivered."

"But you can't hide forever," Mary drawled. 

"Chances are, there's no need for hiding," Lord Grantham overrode her. "Or if it is, then it's 'hiding in plain sight,' as the novels say."  
And Robert raised a glass to toast his middle daughter's excellent news, pushing away any thoughts of unhappiness that might spoil it.


	34. Chapter 34

-  
-  
-  
Tom Branson had been thrilled by Edith's news, of course. And he'd waved the happy pair off at the train station last week, genuinely wishing them happiness.

But he was rather melancholy that evening, thinking about the babies he'd thought to have with Sybil.   
"Dozens of them," he'd once joked as she swatted him hard and said no.   
"Perhaps three, possibly four," she'd bargained back, blue eyes sparkling. 

 

And then there'd been the disaster.  
Branson still felt utterly gutted when he thought of it, the keening loss he'd felt.  
And Edith's news was making him remember.  
It was getting cold in the library, the fire burning low.  
The glow of the lamps were isolated pools of light, leaving shadows gathering in the corners.  
All but Branson had gone up.

 

Rubbing wearily at his forehead, Tom got himself a drink and tried to calm his nerves.  
After years of such nights he knew that his sleep would be filled with Sybil. (Young and strong, brightly smiling in that eager way she had. He is her hero once again.)  
Tom sighed deeply and lowered himself into a chair.

 

Time had been kind to Branson.  
He'd become ruler of his little car shop, had a daughter who loved him beyond all others, and lived comfortably in a great house. (Who'd have guessed he could ever say 'comfortably' about living upstairs?)  
He'd made his own niche in the world, one that suited him down to the ground.  
But he was still lonely on nights like this.

 

There'd been moments when he'd considered what it would be like to have a second wife. (His father had married his stepmother, after all, but there had been seven children to think of.)  
Miss Bunting had fit him, but not the family.  
The Irish Lady would have suited the family, but not him.  
Miss Edmunds was a pretty, young, modern thing, but suited neither.

 

"I'd rather have nothing than something I don't want," Tom thought, pictures of women he'd met running through his mind. "And everything after her would fall so short."  
\---

The others had gone up early, thinking to get some rest.

However, in Lady Mary's bedroom a debate was continuing to rage.  
"I don't see why you and papa think you can overrule me on what to do with my own son," Mary snapped.  
She'd already thought this discussion ended downstairs, without it following her up to her private domain. 

 

"Its just an open evening, Mary. The school has them for parents to see the place, and look over if it's right for their sons." Henry Talbot tried to move toward his wife, but she quickly rose and placed space between them. 

"I don't need an invitation or a look see to know that the answer is already 'no,'" Mary insisted.  
"Georgie will have tutors here at Downton. He's not old enough to go to boarding school."

 

"I went to school at seven and George will be seven this fall," Talbot insisted. "Your father boarded out at six."  
"It's not like you'd want him to attend the village school, is it?" Here, Henry's voice took on a teasing tone; Mary was nothing if not a snob.

"He'll have a tutor. Sybbie will have a governess. And the babies can keep their Nanny.  
"Heavens, Henry, you'd think I was trying to not educate my son. He'll have more education here than he would your way. He'll sit entrance exams just fine--when he's twelve or thirteen, but not now."

 

"Don't talk down to me, Mary. Don't treat me like some child myself."  
Talbot began to pace the room.  
"You call George 'my' son as if I have no say in the matter, but he's 'our son' now. So if you have your reasons, say them, but don't try to act like you can make all the decisions on your own.  
"This is too important a step to let you bully your way through."

 

Lady Mary drew herself up to her full height, nostrils flaring slightly.  
"No, Henry," she said slowly, advancing toward him. "He is not 'our' son. He is 'my' son."  
"I might not be the doting fool Edith is, but I will take care of MY son the way I see best. And sending him to a boarding school is not best.

"He is MY son, Henry. Any chance of him being 'ours' was gone in the first months we were married. You treat him like a stranger."  
She gave a bitter look. "Sometimes you treat me like a stranger."  
And with that comment, she slashed through the last few months of domestic bliss they'd achieved.

 

"Strangers treat me with more kindness," threw back Henry. "Why do you think I travel so much?" Quaking with barely contained anger, he was out the door.  
Mary threw herself on the bed, took a deep breath, and turned out the light.  
She would keep Georgie safe at all costs, she thought.

\---

In the master suite, Lord Grantham settled in next to his wife Cora.  
"I'm still so happy, I could burst," he said, leaning forward to kiss her cheek. "Maybe now Edith can stop fixating on unhappiness."  
"A trip abroad will help, and the baby is marvelous news," began Cora, "But you can't believe there's no cloud on her horizon, Robert. It's Edith. There always will be."  
"Poor Edith," he agreed. "But let's hope the clouds pass her by, shall we? There's no need to borrow trouble, as mama always said."  
They smiled fondly at one another and kissed.

\---

 

Meanwhile, upstairs in the nursery, Marigold was reacquainting herself with her cousins. 

Sybbie was quite an independent operator and had pulled out books and dolls to share.  
George was happy with all the fuss, especially a tray laden with warm milk and biscuits.  
Nanny and a maid were fixing beds and stowing belongings. 

It was a safe and comfortable world, snowed in and snug.  
They would do all sorts of grand things that winter, the children were sure.


	35. Chapter 35

-  
-  
-  
Lady Grantham came into the library and sat down opposite from her husband.  
She usually preferred the sitting room, with its crackling fire and more delicate decorations, but Cora had news to share.  
"You'll never guess," she burst out, laughter still an undercurrent in her voice. 

"Edith's finished with the novel and they're coming home? Mary's electrified the barns and found a more lucrative breed of pigs?"  
Her husband came around the desk to sit with her, eyes twinkling and jovial.  
"You've a load of new fashions direct from Paris that will cost me an arm?"

 

Cora smiled up at him, flirting a bit, even after all these years. "That last sounds like a good idea. You always did like me better in a new frock.  
"But no.... I've had a letter." Cora paused dramatically. "From Harold."

"Crikey, what's he into now?" Robert said with a sigh. "More scandalous tea pots?"

 

"No. He's actually here in England." Cora chuckled at her husband's answering expression. "And, yes, he will stop by for a short visit, but he's been here two weeks already and plans to stay at least a month more in London."  
"What?" Robert asked, both relieved and surprised.

"He wrote that we can come down if we like to see him. He'll be up for a quick trip in any case, so we don't have to bother.  
"It seems my baby brother is courting," Cora said, her face a mixture of amazement and amusement.  
"Some fearfully young thing he met when he was here last."

 

"Well, it's nice that England is getting the rest of the Levinson hoard, but I never thought Harold would take the bait. Of anyone, I never thought Harold...." Lord Grantham started laughing so that he could hardly speak.  
"I wonder what your mother has to say about this turn of events?"

"Harold hastened to add that mother is not part of the move. She's to stay in Newport and manage the retail chain. The rest he's thinking of selling up--oil, coal, the lot.  
"We'll have to see him to tell, but Harold writes as though he's a changed man."

 

"Now who is this temptress?" Robert asked. And they sat, pleasantly gossiping and sharing opinions.

\---- 

 

"Did you ever wish you were young again?" Andy asked the group assembled around the kitchen chopping block.  
"You are young, you git," Joe said, turning back from where he'd set down the box of game for Mrs. Patmore.  
"Not as young as I was, and I'll soon be a father...so some respect, if you please," joked Andy, pulling a face at his friend.

 

"No, I guess what I mean is, do you ever wonder whether you could have done more if you'd made a different decision?  
"Like this brother of Lady Grantham's not marrying until he's an old man.  
"And maybe I could have built up more money for the baby if only I'd learned to read before recent. Or gone into business."

 

"I don't know if I had much choice in what I did as a young man," said Joe slowly. "I went in to the soldiering business like everyone else, and we all came out old men, no matter what our age."  
Miller shook his head ruefully.  
"I was glad my dad worked in Downton, and I could come back here to help out with the game. I'm not sure I would have been fit around people when I first got out. The woods suited me fine."

 

"I'd've taken my exams earlier, but I'm glad I did it, early or not. And I'd still have been here, at Downton either way," Daisy said moving toward the ovens. 

 

"I'd have been the lead can-can dancer at the Follies Bergere," Mrs. Patmore snapped out, coming into the kitchen at the end of their conversation.  
"What a lot of gumps you are to stand around talking about such things."  
"Here, show me what you've brought, Joe Miller, and you, Andy, get off to work and out of my kitchen."

"Young people."  
They scattered.

\---

That job done, Joe oh-so-casually knocked on Mr. Barrow's door.  
Receiving permission, he entered the claustrophobic space.

 

"Not enough room to swing a cat," he criticized. "We need to box up some of this for storage and let you have a little place to breathe."  
"I worked hard for this office, and everything in it," Thomas replied, motioning him to a seat.  
"I'm not saying to burn the lot, just store it somewhere safe that you could get to if you need it. You know. Clear the Carson out of the room. Make it less old man and more young contender."  
Joe grinned at Thomas, waggling his eyebrows.  
Thomas colored, but smiled slightly back.

 

"Who are you?" A smallish lad came out from behind a shelf, and Joe mimed shock.  
"How'd you do that? It looked like magic, it did," the games keeper said, clutching a hand to his chest.  
"I'm Joe, a friend of Thomas's."  
"Mr. Miller," Thomas automatically corrected.  
Mr. Miller settled himself (quite improperly) onto the floor to be the same height as the boy. "And who're you?"

"I'm a friend of Barrow's, too. I'm George. We're doing our books, so you need to go now."

 

"Ah, the girls are upstairs playing at dolls, so you've decamped with the men?"  
Joe laughed.  
"Barrow's setting me sums. Sybbie's better, because she's older, but I'm going to show her next time. But we need to work in the quiet."  
George frowned in a very close approximation to Thomas, which made Miller almost laugh again. (He didn't.)

 

"Don't worry, Master George. I'm not going to steal your Mr. Barrow away. I just wanted to ask if he's free for dinner Friday next."  
Here Miller looked up at the butler. "Are you? Free?"  
Thomas swallowed somewhat thickly. "Yes," he managed.  
"There." Joe turned back to the boy. "I'll leave you two to it, then. But you know, if you're Barrow's friend and I'm Barrow's friend, maybe over time that means we should be friends ourselves."

He unfolded himself and stood. "No hurry, though. No hurry on any of it. It'll be right. "  
And nodding oh-so-casually at Thomas, he left.

 

"He called you 'Thomas,'" grinned George. "He said 'Thomas's friend,'" so now I know your given name, Barrow."  
And that was the major secret Master George stumbled upon for the day.

\---

"Friday next" was Valentine's, Barrow realized with a mildly horrified shock sometime later.  
He'd been asked out to dinner in a perfectly respectable manner on Valentine's.  
Fuck.  
There were implications, that.

 

Standing in front of the mirror, he tried to talk himself out of the idea.  
Or maybe he was trying to talk himself into the idea.  
Squinting at his image, Thomas considered.  
He wasn't ancient for heavens sake, but he could only see the ghost of what he'd been at nineteen.  
"Miller's such a cocky bastard. So cheeky and unscarred," he muttered. "It's foolish to get involved."

 

Thomas was out of practice with such games, if he'd ever been in practice.  
His lovers since the Duke all had been transitory. Except for Jimmy, who seemed life-long, but never touched.  
So it was stupid to even consider this.  
A night over, yes, but a proper date on Valentine's? That was a different ask.  
Bloody hell, what a thing to have happen.

 

Thomas felt like everyone's eyes were now on him as he moved throughout the day.  
As though everyone knew he was once again making a fool of himself.  
"Andy," Mr. Barrow groaned. "Andy'll want to put it in the news reels and brag about it when he finds out. I really need to cancel out, right now."

But he didn't.  
Even if in some (not too secret, very large) part of his heart he still loved Jimmy, he still didn't cancel out.  
Hope was addictive.


	36. Chapter 36

  
  
  
Dearest Mama,  
Bertie and I will be returning March 1 to London and intend to come by Downton two weeks after to pick up Marigold.  
Tell papa that we did not see Anyone on the trip out and do not anticipate seeing Anyone on the way back through. 

We had a marvelous time and look forward to catching up. I have most of my first draft done and will be able to work more easily as the time comes to lie in.  
At every scenic overlook and old pile of stones, Bertie and I keep commenting on how 'Marigold would enjoy this' or 'think that.'  
  
It made me realize how you must have felt when we were young. Thank you, now, for keeping her safe.  
  
Your loving daughter,  
Edith

 

\---

Dear Robert,  
Madeleine and I sail for New York Sunday.  
Yes, mother is quite put out, but she will adjust. 

I have written to Cora under separate cover, but wanted to thank you personally for all you have done.  
Perhaps when I'm back in London permanently, I can repay the service.  
Harold

\---

 

Dear Thomas,  
Hope this letter finds you well.  
I think I may have sent you others, but I'm not sure since I was a bit under the weather at the time. (Alright, I was quite squiffy....happy?) Disregard if I said anything stupid.

I am going with a band that travels around different pubs. (It was that or take out a loan again from those two you saved me from before. Not that.)  
And you know I can't stick my boots long anyway. 

I'll write as I can, though I'm not the best. But I will. If we happen to come north, I will let you know so you can see me. (I am, of course, a champ.)  
And until I have an address, I'll think of you as you always are at Downton. 

I've been reading some of the books you used to have, so you won't know me when you see me next. I'll be quite the intellectual.  
A woman here called me a Lost Boy and I didn't like that much, never being seen as a grown up at my age.  
Anyway, thinking deep thoughts,

Yours,  
Jimmy

 

\---

The post came early that day, and sure enough Thomas had three envelopes from Jimmy, the earlier two probably delayed due to nearly illegible handwriting.

None of the others seemed to notice the look upon his face.  
It was February 15.


	37. Chapter 37

(Yes, I threw in menu items from the current Yew Tree...because it made me chuckle to do so. No, this probably wouldn't have been the luncheon menu in 1928.)

-  
-  
The first thaw left the ground outside the servants' entrance covered in a slime of mud.  
There were cobbles, true, but they only showed through in small patches, scattered so that one could not walk without somehow encountering mud.   
This disgusted Thomas, who not only liked things clean, but also had to worry lest a speck of dried mud remain on anyone going above stairs. (Even the ones the family wouldn't see, he would see. He was trained by Carson, and standards were to be maintained!)

The roads were quite bogged down, with tire tracks leaving ruts.  
Even the Crawleys muttered as they stepped down from their autos, risking contact with a running board covered in muck.

 

And, of course, with the first signs of thaw, Lady Mary had to be talking crops and livestock again.  
Mr. Barrow and Andrew danced the familiar luncheon ballet around the table, serving Lord & Lady Grantham, Lady Mary, Henry Talbot, and Tom Branson.  
Edith and Bertie were expected for dinner.

 

Tom and Mary were deep into a very detailed debate on prices and pigs and management that left Lady Grantham helpless in her attempts to find a more 'suitable' topic.  
Cora followed their conversation, though she was only moderately interested, since she liked to keep informed on anything about the town or estate. (Anything they'd let her know, at least.)  
Meanwhile Henry and Lord Grantham were sitting idly eating, bored, until Talbot finally heaved such a sigh that it was noticeable. 

"This matters, Henry," Lady Mary said, turning with a snap. "It's frustrating and it matters every bit as much or more as the money from the car deals.  
"A year from now I'll either look back and see we've made the choice and gotten the best price or that we've made the wrong one and only made do."

"There's no wrong choice, then, is there love?" Henry said softly, giving her a smile worn thin.  
"You either do well or very well, but neither is wrong?"  
Lord Grantham raised his glass in agreement.

 

"You just don't understand," Mary retorted.   
Mary appeared to make decisions quickly, but actually did so based on thinking and reading, sometimes for weeks.   
She knew her tenants and instinctively knew the land, but that didn't make her operate on instinct alone.  
A Lady never appeared to worry or work. She made it look effortless. But it was not.

 

Silver scraped very lightly on china as the meal progressed for a few moments in silence.   
There were 'new' potatoes with the roast venison and Yorkshire pudding, pickled turnip and asparagus. Mrs. Patmore had outdone herself for it only to be midday.  
Mr. Barrow and Andrew circled with more wine.

Branson studied Henry Talbot's unworried face.  
Mary seemed to be put out with Henry, but the glimpses of love were still there.  
She still seemed to find him pleasing in a fashion, but she no longer made any effort to treat him like an equal.  
Odd, that, when he had laid such groundwork with Morris that they'd soon be showing a steady profit. He may not be her rank, but he was her equal.

 

A random thought hit Tom that made him grin.  
With Henry's eccentric passions, unwillingness to track accounts, and occasional displays of emotion, it was almost as though Mary had married a younger version of her father.   
No wonder they'd all thought him right for the family.   
Branson choked on his water, coughing slightly. (Mentally saying "no, no, no.")

 

Mr. Barrow had caught the grin on Branson's face.   
And though he wasn't sure the cause, he knew from observation that it was undoubtedly over some absurdity in the family.  
Tom was clever, Barrow realized yet again. (Clever as he'd been when he'd stolen Lady Sybil away from them all.) 

"Can I get you something, Mr. Branson?" Barrow deadpanned.  
"No, no thank you, Mr. Barrow," Branson replied.   
"Very good, sir, " Thomas said with the same false deferential tone.   
Tom had the nerve to grin at him, all Irish cockiness. (A shame they'd stop being friends after Sybil, Tom thought.)

 

"I'm thinking I'm on Mary's side in the debate on George," Branson said to Lord Grantham. "No surprise, I'm sure, but I do want to point out that with him here, there's a need for a tutor for both him and Sybbie. Without, she'd be just as well at the Village school."  
This was playing a trump card, and Branson knew it.   
He looked over at Mary and saw her practically beam. (Well worth it, then.)

Henry snorted, but said nothing.  
Lord Grantham accurately read the room and merely said, "right then. But we'll see that we get him the best."  
Lady Grantham smiled almost as widely as Mary.  
Tom Branson looked at Barrow and nodded.   
Thomas nodded back. (If not friends, allies of a sort, perhaps?)

\---

Meanwhile, three little fugitives were standing in the kitchen garden.  
George, of course, had led the escape.   
Marigold was a rather tentative criminal. For all of her mother's love, the little girl was still shy and more apt to follow than lead in any endeavor.  
Sybbie was a born leader, but not in something like this. 

 

They were covered, rather head to toe, in splatters of mud.   
It squelched beneath their feet, which was quite glorious, but wouldn't win them any favors, Sybbie knew.   
Nanny had been reading them a book about syrup making in New England, knowing that Sybbie had relatives living over there. So, naturally, Georgie got it in his head that they must try to tap a tree and make their own here at Downton.  
English syrup was bound to beat that in the States, he'd opined.

 

The problem was, they were old enough to have such curiosity, but not quite old enough to figure out how to proceed on the experiment.  
So here they were, three rather bedraggled creatures, quickly deciding to abandon that part of the lark and merely squelch around and listen to the birds.

 

Georgie pulled his hat down low and stuffed his fingers in his pockets.  
"Mrs. Patmore told Emmie she was 'happy as a pig in muck' the other day.   
"Guess they would be happy, squishing around in this."   
George looked speculatively at the ground as though he'd like to try a good roll.

 

"George Crawley, don't you dare," Sybbie said, her tone a mix of admiration and horror.  
Miss Sybbie was only seven, but she knew what was what.   
She would usually follow her cousin in any of his mad schemes, but getting muddy for a reason that made some (distant) sense was one thing. Rolling like pigs was another. 

Sybbie wrapped her arms around Marigold and shared in her warmth.  
"'Sides it's getting too cold. It was a good 'speriment, but we need to get inside."

George hated to be bossed, and usually got his way at any cost.   
But he had to agree that a warm bath and cocoa would probably be better than testing Mrs. Patmore's expression.   
He gave two big stomps, just to watch the mud splatter, then turned toward the house. 

The three giggled and twirled a few times up the path, tried to knock some of the mud off their shoes before declaring it useless, then went toward the door.

\---

Daisy stepped outside with scraps on a tin for the cat.

The kitchen door cat was a chatty old thing, and made itself known at regular intervals as Mrs. Patmore or Daisy threw a few scraps its way.   
This probably somewhat reduced its incentive to hunt the voles and mice which were in its job description.  
But, quite frankly, that was not Daisy's concern. Both she and the older cook agreed that the company of a chatty cat was worth a few scraps.  
And the cat, a comfortable sort, seemed grateful for the friendship.

 

The three Crawley children slowed as they came upon the scene.  
Daisy took in their appearance, flummoxed. "Come right inside here and stay, if you value your hides," she warned, though knowing that no one would say word one if they left mud on the oil paintings and slid down the bannisters. (Fortunately, that hadn't crossed Georgie's mind.)

The cat looked up at Daisy and seemed amiable, so she let it just inside the door.  
"Pet the cat...gently. Might as well add some hair to the mix, and it'll keep you busy.   
" I'll go get Nanny and some rags."

 

Mrs. Hughes came by, and nodded approval to the plan.  
"And what have the lot of you been up to larking about?" she asked with a smothered smile. Elsie knew soon enough they'd be far too fine for such adventures, and so welcomed them while they lasted. 

"Well, I had this idea..." Master George piped up, bold as brass, Miss Sybbie moving close and nodding her support. "But it got too cold to finish properly."  
Marigold smiled quietly and enjoyed petting the chatty cat. She soon would be going home and would miss Downton.


	38. Chapter 38

-

Skip this chapter if m/m offends you. It is not graphic (no sex) and I need it to show some sort of character progression, but I don't want to ruffle anyone's feathers. (And I remember being startled at seeing so much PALE skin when they showed Anna & Bates in bed.....so it does take a shift in tone, but it has been a scene for a lot of couples, so....)  
\---  
\---

 

There was nothing on the calendar to predict it.  
(Every date on the calendar had some savage memory attached.)

It was quite simply the fault of a table of ruffians--former soldiers, roaming for jobs and well in their cups--that caused Thomas's glum mood that night.  
They were singing the Comrade's Song and made some passing references in their talk to Wipers and the Somme--oblique to anyone who hadn't seen what Thomas had. 

 

Andy could see his companions sinking into a blue funk, but didn't know why.  
The footman was more concerned with Daisy's condition.  
Daisy was five months along--far enough to be past the sick feelings in the morning, but also far enough along to be vexed (narky, mardy, and sulky.)  
It was her forceful statement that Andy "deserved a good braying" which decided the man to escape to the pub at all. His Yorkshire lass was showing her temper.

 

Even Thomas admitted that Daisy's recent comments showed the girl's early training at the feet of Mrs. Patmore.  
Best to steer clear. 

But now Andy was feeling alone, rather than comforted by his chums.  
So they parted at the door, with Andy going to Yew Tree and the others toward the estate. 

 

\---

Some time later, Thomas woke up in a sweat, though the room was cool enough for an early May night.  
The windows were open and white linen curtains fluttered with the breeze.  
A night bird sang a sleepy note in a lilac bush outside.  
Thomas couldn't take it in, this difference between the battlefield dream and reality. 

He tried frantically to catch a breath, his mind still half taken by the alcohol and sleeping.  
Thomas's mouth tasted of the stale beer and too many cigarettes.

 

"What is it?" came a sleepy murmur next to him.  
Warm hands reached out and pulled him back.  
"What is it, love?"

"Nothing." came the sharp reply.

"The men at the pub. It's the war again?" Instinctively, Joe's large hands rubbed circles on Thomas's back until his breathing slowed.  
Quietly Joe waited for him to relax.  
"You're safe. You're home. Just keep saying it to yourself."

 

Joe's voice rumbled gently, fully understanding.  
"Took me two years to even leave the estate, it did. Didn't want to even see another soldier.  
"Just wanted to bury myself in physical labor and isolation.  
"Can't believe you were strong enough to keep serving when you came back."

 

Joe shifted and tried to wrap Thomas more completely in his arms.  
"You don't have to..." Thomas started to protest, pushing back. 

Joe just chuckled. "Bastard. You are the most polite and self reliant man I've ever met.  
"There. Satisfied? I know I don't 'have to' but let me anyway, eh?

 

Muttering slightly under his breath, Thomas still settled back.  
"Now go to sleep, you idjit. You're safe. We're safe. Just get some sleep or we'll be dead gone tomorrow, right?"

 

They shifted and settled, molding one body to another.  
"Would he hate me if he knew?" Thomas wondered, afraid, but with too much pride to lie.  
"I need to tell you about my hand," Barrow whispered, swallowing hard. 

Joe's breath was hot on his neck.  
"I know it already," he said, then paused, "but you can tell me if you want."

 

And Joe reached down to take the scarred hand in his as Thomas began, compulsively, to talk.  
Damaged, angry, resilient, loyal--there were a lot of pieces to the complex puzzle of Thomas Barrow.  
But then, thought Joe, no one was perfectly straight forward.  
So he'd take each piece as he got them and try to see how the fit they whole.

Miller smiled against Thomas's shoulder, listening. And he felt a bit of love in addition to attraction for the beautiful devil in his bed.  
Who knew it'd come to that?  
Certainly not Joe.


	39. Chapter 39

-  
-  
Summer deepened, and the village felt more prosperous as crops thrived in the fields and cash came into town.  
Some of the repairs that had been put off with last year's failures were now being made.  
And the Village fathers decided that it was quite all right to hold a summer fair in town.  
A few travelling acts had asked permission and would be a part, but Downton residents had traditions of their own and soon plans for booths and tents were wildly underway.

 

Annie Philpotts, though yet a youngster herself, was leading the charge.  
With permission from her aunt, Annie had commandeered the makings of a booth. And this was to be no mere slipshod affair for Annie, oh no.  
The petite redhead had decided that they were to decorate it fine, to promote the B&B.  
Moreover, she and the Philpotts clan were in full gear to make sweets and sell cold beverages. 

  


Annie would allow her siblings a cut of the take, but most of the profit would still go to Auntie Beryl, as the main businesswoman of their line.  
Recipes were tested, tried, kept or discarded.  
A great argument arose between Annie and Lisa over the matter of nutmeg in Great Aunt Imogene's spice cake. (In the interest of family harmony and continued profit, Annie gave over.)  
Gallons upon gallons of drink were created and an order of ice procured from the iceman, who happened to be dating one of the older girls.

 

\---

Joseph Moseley decided it would be educational to provide a tent for the fair.  
This had never been done by the school in the off season, though they'd had performances and fetes in the schoolhouse itself during the fall and winter.  
Moseley thought he'd call it a "Weird Wonders" tent.  
Now knowing more about the workings of the younger audience's minds, Moseley collected anything disgusting, odd or interesting about geography and science. 

 

He had postcards and maps, featuring far away lands and even, in pride of place, a magic lantern projection.  
There were nests (empty) and insects (pinned) of which his students were particularly proud to have found.  
Most surprisingly, a cage in the corner held a riotously colorful parrot that one girl's uncle had brought back as a surprise for her mother this past spring. (Every squawk made Joseph jump a bit.)  
Thus, he knew, he'd have a guaranteed audience of parents and friends coming through.

 

Immediately outside the school tent, there were ring tosses and a coconut shy, a rope pull and a strong man hammer.  
(Moseley smiled in remembrance each time he passed by the strong man challenge, beating Jimmy at it a highlight.)  
Down the path a bit, the farmers had agreed and driven in several models of tractors, to sit in a circle and be looked at and debated as to relative merit.  
Talbot and Branson had several models of cars parked for the same.

\---

 

Up at the big house, the downstairs staff gathered in the servants hall to walk down together.  
Joe had come up to walk with them, which delighted Andy and Bates to no end.  
Andy kept chattering on about games they could try, after admitting he was not much for sport.  
But Joe smiled and told the men he'd sponsor them all in a round of pop, and they were all looking forward to what they might see. 

 

When Mr. Barrow came in, he blandly looked Miller up and down and said simply, "You're sitting in my spot."  
For, yes, Joe had inadvertently taken the rocker that Barrow tended to use as a throne.  
"We should have warned you about committing trespass," Bates joked to the man.  
Joe leaned back and rocked a few times in apparent contemplation. "Yes, it is a comfortable spot. I see why you like it, Mr. Barrow."  
Arrogant, he grinned and got up, stretching to full height.  
"But I guess it's time to leave."

 

Miss Baxter stared at the gamekeeper.  
Not part of the kitchen staff, and usually busy on his visits, Baxter didn't know Joe very well at all.  
She looked him up and down appraisingly, sensing....something.  
She turned to look at Thomas, and tilted her head to one side, considering.  
(No, surely not...but...maybe.)

 

"Well, Mr. Miller, we'll have to get better acquainted you and I. Andy's told us so much about you, but I don't really feel like I know you yet." The shy woman stepped up toe to toe with the tall man.  
He grinned down. "Yes, Miss Baxter. I feel the same. So many stories about you, but we haven't shared but a few words. May I walk you down until we reach your husband?"  
And smooth as silk, the two led off.  
Thomas Barrow was suddenly very nervous.

 

Andy saw the direction of Thomas's stare and came up to say quietly, "I know you don't want me mixing, Mr. Barrow, but I still say Joe's a good fellow."  
Thomas blushed lightly and seemed to tense.  
"No, no....I'm backing away. I know what you said about me matchmaking."  
And Parker, now well trained by a pregnant wife to avoid all conflicts, quickly turned away. 

From nearby, John Bates couldn't resist a smirk.  
("What?" Anna asked. "Never you mind, curious woman," he replied. "And how is the little prince this fine afternoon?" soon changed the topic.)

\---

By the time the group came in, the fair was crowded full.  
Phyllis waved and left to help Moseley.  
The various couples scattered, with promises to reunite for the rope pull.

Joe and Thomas wandered aimlessly between the tents, stopping here and there to play a game and win a prize.  
As they walked, a few passersby called out a hello to Joe, friendlier than what Barrow ever saw.  
"I grew up here, you know," Joe answered his questioning look. "The people I took lessons with run most of the shops. I may not get to town much, but they still know me as friends."

"Cozy that," Thomas said somewhat bitterly.  
"Not always," Miller replied lightly. "But we seem to have struck a balance."

\---

Coming round the corner, the two came upon Daisy sitting in Old Mason's tent.  
Mason had set up the display, which included jams and cake by the slice--both made by his fair ladies.  
Even though business was brisk, Daisy had a rather dejected air about her.  
"I'm missing out on the fun," she grumbled to Thomas. "I'm as big as a house and can't even make my way to the square. They've jugglers in the square, did you know? They've arranged them special and I'm stuck here."  
She plumped herself down, just as Andy rushed up. 

 

Andy had been on a foraging mission. Every few minutes he'd bring back a pop or a prize for his Daisy.  
He'd offered to sit in the booth for her to roam, but she was too tired to do much beyond a small walk around.  
Then he'd offered to sit with her, and soon waved the fan so rapidly that she was quite irritated with the way it blew her hair.  
It seemed safer to go out and bring back descriptions and offerings to lay at her (swollen) feet.

 

Daisy was never intentionally rude or mean to her husband, of course.  
She still loved him dearly and wondered how someone so sweet and kind should be hers.  
But she was a bit out of sorts these days, in spite of the (appreciated) efforts.

Neither Daisy nor Andy took any of the rough comments as anything but terms of endearment underneath, since Daisy had been practically raised by Mrs. Patmore, and Andy's mother fit the same mold.  
So they nattered and grumbled and smiled and kissed their worries away.

\---

 

"Well, have you set them all to rights?" Mrs. Hughes asked, catching up with Mr. Carson.  
"I'm not involved," Carson stated firmly, letting her take his arm as they slowly promenaded the grounds.  
"Ah, but surely you couldn't help organizing them a bit, you old booby," she teased.  
"Perhaps a few suggestions on the ticket sales," Charlie admitted as she smiled up at him.

 

The two sat down on the bench by the War Memorial.  
The Great War had ideals, and here they were engraved in stone and bronze.  
Joe and Thomas walked past, sharing a bag of penny chews, and Carson harumphed.

"You trust him already with the house, Charlie. Why don't you accept him outside of it?" Elsie Hughes said patiently.  
"There's something unacceptable in him..." Carson began before she cut him off.  
"All that's in him is what God made. And you've raised him longer than his own father, you know." She let her voice drop, and fanned herself indolently against the heat.

 

A comfortable silence fell.  
The Carsons sat in the gathering dusk, enjoying the flowers the committee planted and watching the children running past.  
It was peaceful and relaxed, and soon under cover of darkness, they held hands.

\---

Anna and Bates were enjoying the freedom of the night, the glittering lights overhead a novelty.  
Cheeky as always, Anna took her husband's hand and held it swinging between them.  
She was young and beautiful still, and in his eyes she was the exact same woman he'd met that first day at Downton.  
He pulled her hand up and kissed her knuckles. "Oh Mr. Bates, behave," she said giggling and looking up through lowered lashes.  
She bit her lip and he wanted to kiss her right there in public in the square.

 

John junior, however, had less romantic ideas.  
The toddler squirmed slightly and reached out toward a particularly festive booth.  
"Time to win a prize for our boy, eh?" Bates said and bought a ticket to play.  
"Look, Johnny. Look at your father. Isn't he wonderful?"  
Anna cheered him at his side.

\---

Tom Branson and Lady Mary strolled through the fair.  
They used as their excuse that the children would like it, but really were enjoying the distraction themselves just as much.  
(Pity Henry is in Liverpool, Tom thought.)

Sybbie, just turned eight, climbed over her father to follow her cousin through the crowd.  
"Just how much did you give them to spend?" protested Mary as the two youngsters seemed intent on having a go at every tent and sampling every sweet.  
Branson laughed. "Let them be young, Mary. And we'll pretend to be young, too. See, here, I'll get you whatever you like from the cake tent. Two slices even, if someone so thin can handle it."  
Mary raised an eyebrow at his obvious flattery.

 

"I suppose we can stay and eat out under the lights, though it is rather rude and common," she decided finally.  
"I can't get used to the village electrified, so modern."  
She smiled almost unwillingly.

 

"Yes, let's be modern and rude and common, just for a bit. Then we'll go home and be quite proper tomorrow," agreed Branson, finding her a seat before going to fetch the cake.

 

"I wonder if George will sleep tonight with all this excitement," Mary thought as Tom moved away.  
"I will," she decided. "And so will everyone working these tents.  
"We aren't as young as we used to be, even if we try to pretend we're the same."  
Still Lady Mary smiled. And in her smile was every age of girl she'd ever been.


	40. Chapter 40

-  
-  
-  
It was hard to get a table at Rules, but Sarah Bennington knew how to work it.   
She'd told the maitre de that she was meeting a friend, for there was sure to be someone she knew inside.   
If not, Sarah was very good at making friends quickly.

Sarah wore her best beaded dress, nude colored with a torquoise trim.   
The main color sometimes made men look twice to see that she wasn't in her "all together,"   
which was, after all, the reason for her choice. 

 

She was in luck that night as Midge waved her over to a corner table.   
They kissed each others cheeks in the Parisian manner, and Sarah slid in next to a tall older gentleman.   
"Sarah, I'd like you to meet Richard Carlisle, who owns all those marvelous newspapers. Richard, I'd like you to meet Sarah Bennington, who is not only my chum but a wonderful writer herself."  
Midge gave a huge, rather vacuous smile and nodded to the waiter who offered more wine. 

 

"So, Richie," said Sarah, "what brings you to London? Hopefully not all work?"

Carlisle gave her a look in equal parts distaste and interest. Sometimes his best news tips came from these flappers, who never seemed to show any discretion.   
He'd found out about the triangle between Leonard, Virginia, and Vita through Midge--and she still didn't seem to realize that such a thing might be leveraged for influence. 

 

"I'm here because I enjoy my business, Miss Bennington. Do you enjoy yours?"   
"Oh, I enjoy everything or I don't do it," Sarah agreed with a nod of her head. She scanned the menu. Since Carlisle was buying for Midge, she'd be sure that her bill was covered as well.  
What was the best thing on the menu? And champagne, lots of champagne!  
Sarah smiled her most winning smile in the direction of the newspaper man and settled in for a good gossip.

\---

 

Michael Gregson hated to go out in public these days.   
First, he'd had to get used to being out and around at all.   
Being locked in a small cell with restricted movement made any sort of life with choice difficult to handle.   
Then, he knew that people in the industry were talking about him still.   
He'd 'become' the news--not the thing any true journalist would want.  
Finally, there was the anger and loss of coming home to find Edith Crawley married to another man. 

 

Michael tried to rein in his feelings.  
In his head, he knew that Edith was blameless. He'd used his sources to investigate her life as soon as he'd stepped foot on English soil.  
But in his heart, Michael was still wounded.

 

Gregson had a dinner with his editor that night, and the man had insisted that they go out to Rules.   
They'd made a practice of going there in the past-- with clients and people they wanted to impress--so the editor had booked the table.   
The issue, of course, was that it brought back memories of his date there with Edith all those years ago. 

Michael hoped that he'd be able to keep up a rationale and civil conversation, given how he felt.

\---

"Oh, look, there's Michael Gregson," squealed Midge, smiling and waving.   
Gregson managed not to make eye contact.   
"Either he didn't see me or he's playing high hat."

"That flat tire isn't worth the effort," Sarah drawled, turning to Carlisle. "I'm sure you've already covered Michael's story for all it's worth."

 

"Well, there's always some interest left on anything dealing with Gregson and the Crawleys," the editor hinted, having already been told by Midge of their adventures during the eclipse.   
"Crawleys?" asked Sarah, her screwed up expression showing confusion.   
"You, know, Edith's folks. They call it Grantham, but the family's Crawley. Gee, Sarah, nobody home?" Midge gave an inebriated giggle and put an arm around Carlisle, who immediately (though politely) disentangled himself. 

 

"Well, Edith is giving us the icy mitt these days. Whatever I know, you'll know, Dickie dear," Sarah said, leaning close.   
Their meals came and the trio began to eat, talking all the way.   
("They may not have manners or class," Richard Carlisle thought, "but they soon might be worth their weight in gold.")

\--

"This baby is an active little thing," Edith smiled, letting Bertie put his hand on her stomach.  
It wasn't proper, but none of the servants were around and Mother Hexham was completely in the other wing. 

Her husband smiled. "A brother or sister for our Marigold?" he posed.  
"Obviously, a brother," Edith said. "An heir, as we both know."

 

"Yes, but I inherited without being a rich man's son. And I do love little girls. I'd be happy either way, you know."  
"We'll call her....Lily? Rose? Buttercup?"   
His last suggestion made Edith laugh, and Bertie's face took on a look of amazement as the baby flipped over under his hand and kicked.   
"But if he is a boy, I'll wager he'll be good at sports."

They sat, contented, by their home fires.


	41. Chapter 41

-  
-  
-  
It was only a sauce boat, and quite an ugly one at that.  
The spout was a snarling hound and the handle an eagle's head, which made no sense at all, since the body of the boat was, quite literally, a boat--an Egyptian one of some type, burnished with gold.  
But when Daisy dropped it, she felt as though she'd killed a living thing.

"Oh God, I'm a goner," she'd wailed, sauce splattering around her and the boat neatly severed into three large chunks.  
"What the eye doesn't see, the heart doesn't grieve over," Mrs. Patmore said in passing. "Just clean it up before Mr. Carson comes in."

 

"Oh, no, Mr. Carson," Daisy gasped and waddled off as fast as she could to fetch a mop.  
For Mr. Carson came up when Mr. Barrow took a half day, and though he didn't have the edge of days gone by, he still had high standards.

 

"An 1820 Meissen sauce boat," Carson grumbled to Mrs. Hughes a quarter hour later when they passed in the hall. "That's what comes of women in....her condition.....in the kitchen."  
Elsie Hughes laughed. Charlie not only wouldn't breathe the phrase 'with child,' he wouldn't think the word 'pregnant.'  
"Is she all right?" Mrs. Hughes asked, starting to turn.  
"I think so. Mrs. Patmore has it in hand, so I didn't intervene. I do know Andrew is almost useless for the service. I had to practically threaten him to continue."

\---

Back in the kitchen, Mrs. Patmore did, indeed, have things fairly in hand given the situation.  
Daisy hadn't dropped the china out of sheer clumsiness.  
She'd dropped it when the first of her pains hit. 

Beryl soon had a call out to Anna and Mrs. Moseley for reinforcements and was managing the kitchen without her assistant cook.  
"I can't have you dropping a baby between courses, you daft dolly," she'd told the girl as they pushed her toward the servants hall. "Now go with Anna and she'll set you on the right path."

 

Anna called the doctor, who agreed that Daisy should go home and that he'd send the nurse midwife there.  
First babies were often slow, according to Clarkson. "I'll come by later on, after I finish here with Timothy Beam's leg. A fall from a barn loft trumps a labor pain for the time being, but keep her comfortable and calm."

 

Mr. Carson was adamant that Andy couldn't leave in the middle of service.  
"Fathers just wait in the front room, Andrew. You'll make her nervous, for something you won't want to be in earshot of anyway," Carson told the young man in his gentlest tones.  
"Steady on, now, see to the task at hand."

 

Between running trays upstairs and trying to look appropriately "blank," Andy ran downstairs and looked absolutely terrified and excited.  
In the meantime, there was a lot of noise coming out the the servants hall and a bucket with rags going in.  
"Was that progress?" Andy wondered as he dared to take a peek and saw the curious site of the maids washing the floor. "What?" he thought to himself.  
Of his wife, he could see only her shoes, so surrounded was she by the female members of their staff. 

 

Mrs. Hughes came to him and turned him round. "She's doing fine, Andy. Don't you worry about a thing. We've got it now."  
"Let's go into my sitting room with Daisy, shall we ladies?"  
And Mrs. Hughes herself went back to call Dr. Clarkson to tell him this particular first baby seemed to be in too much of a rush for a car ride.

\---

Now while all this was starting, Daisy's friend Thomas was, indeed, on his half day.  
If Andy wasn't expected in the room, Barrow wouldn't even be expected in the vicinity.  
But Daisy wished he were at least somewhere close by.

Thomas would have immediately yelled at the doctor and made him to hurry it up.  
And he had medical training from the war, she thought weakly, though probably not exactly for this.  
"Andy," Daisy wailed suddenly, in a voice louder than any thought she owned.

\---

 

Mr. Barrow was probably lucky to be in York.  
While he enjoyed children of all sizes and descriptions, he did rather fear for his Daisy, remembering well losing another friend to the birth of a child.  
They hadn't, of course, known that tonight would be the night or  
certainly he would have faced the fear and stuck in spite of all that.

 

Unaware of calamity, Barrow was coming out of the flicks in York, a pensive look on his face.  
The picture had been a rather overdone melodrama that left him flat. Worse, the music before and at intermission had somehow reminded him of Jimmy.  
Odd thing, a melody to do that.  
So Thomas was walking down the sidewalks with one man while thinking of another,  
which he knew to be patently unfair.

 

There'd been a long gap after that winter flurry of letters, then a dribble of vague well wishes the last few months.  
It was more like Jimmy Kent had run away and hidden this half year, not gone off on a tour of renown that should have him bragging with each post.

 

No wonder the music had Jimmy on his mind.  
Kent was his friend and he was worried about him. (Thomas hated having emotions.)  
A few stray thoughts shouldn't make him guilty should it? (Emotions were too confusing.)  
Enough.  
ENOUGH.  
(Wrap the thoughts up like bandaging and tuck them neatly away.)

Thomas turned to talk to Joe, who beckoned him from under the streetlamp.  
"Best be going home," Joe smiled as the cinema crowd swept past. "It's getting late."

\---

At Downton, things were running apace.  
Mr. Carson had given up and let Anna serve the pudding, leaving Andy to try and calm his wife.  
Around the time for drinks in the drawing room, the Parkers had a son...and a daughter, both.  
Mr. Mason had been called to drive them all home, since Andy's legs were now made of India rubber.

 

Seeing her babies for the first time, Daisy felt a swell of love and fear.  
Her heart pounded in her chest.  
Just by chance, no one, not even Anna, had let her hold a baby before.  
"Here, you do it," she squeaked, pushing the bundles at Mrs. Patmore.  
The older lady teared up and gladly took the wee things into her care.

They were warm and sleepy and smelled of soap and promises.  


 

"You know, Daisy, I've been thinking about what you said," Beryl Patmore said.  
"Now, you'll have to lie in for two or three weeks. Mr. Mason will get a girl to help you out and the nurse midwife will come by, too.  
"And I think you'll change your tune by the end of it, but if you don't, then, and want to keep on here... Well, I could give my notice and take care of the babies, whilst I supervise the B&B.  
"I've had a good run of it, and I don't want you to miss out if you want to be head cook at last."

 

Daisy started crying. The babies started crying. Mrs. Patmore started crying.  
Mr. Carson, who had finally made to go in and check on the new mother, turned on his heel and left before crossing the threshold.  
"I don't know who Mr. Barrow will have cooking for him, but I'll leave it for him to sort," Charlie Carson said later to his wife. 

 

"Maybe we'll put a crib in the sitting room and keep them both," she retorted. "Nappies on the line in the courtyard."  
"God forbid," he replied, though he knew she was jesting. (The Abbey still had a perfectly adequate laundress.)

"And two of them, just in a snap, right in your sitting room" Carson commented, eyebrows drawing together.  
"It's appalling. That's what you get..."


	42. Chapter 42

(This may be a bit soppy, but I think it fits in with where Thomas has moved to by this point....)

-  
-

 

Two hallboys sat playing cards in the servants hall when Mr. Barrow came in.  
He was rushed and flushed and decidedly out of sorts.  
"What are you lot still up for then?" he said. "Shouldn't you be in bed instead of roistering?"  
(But Barrow's tone was mild, for playing cards at night was not a sin in his mind.)

 

The boys rose, grinning slightly at one another and watching the butler from the sides of their eyes.  
He automatically went to the book on the stand by the table.  
The butler's book recorded the goings on of the day, and Barrow would want to see how Mr. Carson had left things.  
Thomas's eyes widened a bit and his mouth dropped. (No details, just a three word entry in Carson's bold script.)

 

The young boys chuckled as he turned round.  
"When was this then?"  
"During dinner service. You should have seen them all."  
Their piping voices played over each other as the tale was told with no small embellishment for drama's sake.  
"But she's all right, though? Mrs. Parker?" Thomas interrupted.  
"Quite all right," came a voice from the doorway.

 

Anna stood there, grinning.  
"Boys, be up now," she said smartly and they immediately obeyed, though grinning back.  
"Mr. Bates is upstairs, and I'm here, too," she said.  
"But if she's doing well..." Barrow let his question trail.

 

"Ah, but we were all of a mind you'd try to steal out there tonight. You have been known to leave the latch out occasionally," Anna said.  
Thomas ruefully walked round the hall. "So you stayed to keep me from my folly?"

 

"No, silly, I stayed to drive you. Couldn't let the butler be taken up on theft charges for stealing the family car."  
Anna gave Thomas her usual cheeky look.  
"And since you probably haven't driven since the war, you might have dented something--which would be an even worse crime in Mr. Branson's book.  
Anna tilted her head toward the door.  
"Get your coat, Mr. Barrow. I helped deliver these babies, and I wouldn't mind another peek myself."

Barrow started for his coat, then stopped.  
"Babies?" he questioned. "Babies?" he repeated with an emphasis on the plural.  
"Boy and girl, our Daisy had. And all are doing well. 'Course Andy's a little worse for wear," she laughed.

 

"Wait, wait....I just need to....." and with that Thomas strode down the hall to his office.  
He rummaged for a bit and took out a parcel before returning.  
"Well at least I'm prepared," he smiled down at Anna. And he handed her the parcel while putting on his coat.

She looked inside. Two Farnell bears looked up at her, their glass eyes shining.  
"How?" she laughed. "You couldn't have possibly..."

 

He grinned back at her, cheeky himself. "I had to get one pink and one turquoise, not knowing which. And now by chance I've got it well covered."

"Do you remember a long time ago when I taught Daisy the Grizzly Bear?" Barrow asked as he and Anna headed toward the car.  
There was joy in his voice.

 

http://imgur.com/a/XIzhR


	43. Chapter 43

(Note: I don't know what the law was like in the 1920's, so I'm taking the word of an article on inheritance and probate written after series 3 by a lawyer. He has a better chance of being right than I do, but I couldn't find a second set of articles on probate in the 1920's and entails against which to compare, so this is rather shoddy fact checking on my part. LOL Fortunately, it's a passing comment.)

 

-  
-  
For once, Lady Mary was absolutely at peace with the world.  
She had a smile on her face, was humming a tune (slightly off key) under her breath, and was taking time to note that the sun was shining over the pleasure gardens, still colorful with their fall displays.  
The day was good.  
Downton was out of debt. 

 

This rather remarkable situation happened earlier than the twenty years she'd told her father they'd need due to two events.  
First, the probate on the dowager's estate was finished after two years of legal work--which opened up a cash trust from her great grandparents for Mary's personal needs. 

Even though technically under English law Mary could only "inherit" Matthew's portion of the estate as "use" until her father's death (when it once again was folded into the entail), Lady Mary didn't care to keep her granny's trust separate for herself alone.  
She wanted it for Downton and Georgie.  
And it was almost enough...almost.

 

The second event was the sale of the London house.  
Lady Mary hadn't flinched in the slightest at this sale, since they all tended to stay with Aunt Rosamund when in town these days or at the club, in the case of her father when he went to sit as a peer.  
They'd not stayed the entire Season for years.  
There would be no large coming out for Violet Elizabeth in the family manse, that was true.  
But then again, there might be at that....for the house had sold to her Uncle Harold.

 

Harold was not, nor ever would become, a country man.  
He had put as much money as he could in 'portable property' and absolutely 'secure' securities, telling Robert and Mary that he had a sense of too much exuberance in the investment world of the States. 

"I don't like parties," Harold said. "And some of my colleagues are now treating their investments like a never ending well rather than tending to them. Never thought I'd appreciate the sobriety of the British, but for now I'll put up with the boredom to at least see some sense."

 

Uncle Harold was embarrassing in his mannerisms, but Mary didn't doubt his record of success.  
Barring that one slight misstep (for which he'd never actually been 'named' or lost cash), Harold Levinson's nose for business was excellent.  
"Let's just hope he doesn't try to visit the Lords and solicit," Lady Mary thought with a slight roll of her eyes. 

 

But now the sale was through to a family member, which gave Mary the sums she needed to put the estate completely in the black and then some.  
Mary smiled and wrapped a wool shawl, heavily fringed, around her shoulders.  
"I'll go out to Matthew's Bench to sit and enjoy the sun," she said to herself. "No work for today."  
Lady Mary was in a rare holiday mood.

\---

 

At Brancaster, the other shoe dropped.  
Edith sorted through the mail only to find a heavy envelope addressed in distinctive hand--Michael's.  
In spite of expecting it for months now, the Marchioness still felt her breath catch in her throat.  
Absently, she rubbed her belly for comfort.  
Little Buttercup was rambunctious and could sense something amiss.  
But a lady never lets anyone see her concerns. 

 

"Bradley," she said, "Would you have Lord Hexham join me here?"  
The footman snapped to and left her side.  
"We've a family matter to discuss," Edith whispered the end under her breath.

Edith still felt that the Michael Gregson she'd once loved would be a gentleman if told the truth.  
But what she couldn't be sure of was whether Michael had come back a changed man.  
Bertie had been right when he suggested inviting him to come first, and letting the news out after assuring themselves he hadn't.

 

Unfortunately, she no longer had that option.  
Michael already knew about Marigold, and according to his rushed letter, he was ready to meet immediately.

\----

 

"But what are you doing HERE?" Mary practically shrieked at her sister the moment the families were left alone.  
"Gregson said it would be easier to cover a meeting here than at Brancaster. He set the place and hour," Bertie said, trying to calm his sister in law. 

"And it isn't as though your hands are clean in any of this. If it hadn't been for that horrible Richard Carlisle, we wouldn't have this meeting at a crisis point," Edith threw back.  
Mary rolled her eyes and started to turn away.  
"Stop being such a bitch, Mary," Edith said loudly, taking a few steps toward her sister as though to grab her by the arm.

 

"Girls," Lady Grantham said firmly (though never raising her voice) "You must both stop this behavior at once."

 

"Would someone kindly tell me what's going on?" asked Henry from where he was standing near the fireplace.  
The conversation became silent immediately as everyone looked his way.  
Edith looked back at Mary, who in turn shrugged and held her palms up as though to say "your fault this time."  
Edith sighed. "Marigold is my daughter, mine and a man named Michael Gregson's. That's why he's coming today."

 

Henry gave his wife one rather hurt glance, then looked back at Edith.  
"Well, that's alright then. I'm sure we can work it all through, right Bertie?" Talbot went over to be nearer to his friend.  
Bertie nodded back. "It will. We'll meet this challenge with as much grace as possible, but we'll meet it together, which is good."

 

Cora smiled at her sons in law.  
"Girls, come sit down. When he comes, we'll make our decisions on what to do."

"Well, I think we should decide things rather sharpish, don't you?" said Mary, not letting herself be too appeased.

\---

 

When Gregson exited the car at Downton Abbey, the sun was shining, though it was chill enough that a puff of steam came out with each breath.  
He was in good shape for a dead man, though still too thin and with a perpetual sadness behind his eyes.  
Michael had spent the night before watching shadows on the bedroom ceiling, rather than sleeping. He both wanted to see Edith and settle this matter, and dreaded to see Edith and know that she wasn't his.

 

After opening the car door for their visitor, Andy neatly fell in line behind Barrow and Bates.  
They glared at the arrival, not totally sure of how he might be a danger, but still ready to defend Lady Edith.  
Edith had always spoken kindly to Parker and Bates, and she'd always dance an extra time or two with Barrow at the servants ball.  
While she wasn't Sybil, below stairs Edith was both pitied and respected.

\---

 

"I regret the necessity of this," Gregson began, when he'd awkwardly joined the assembly. "But I couldn't put such things in writing, and every telephone call opens one up to an operator listening."

"As I said before in general: I know about Marigold.  
"To be more specific now that we're here, I know that Richard Carlisle is investigating a story that Marigold is my daughter with Edith...forgive me, the Marchioness."  
"And we need to protect the child--and ourselves--as best we can."

 

Here, the Crawleys exhaled at last.  
"Thank you, Michael, thank you so much," Edith managed, with a crack in her voice.  
"We did try to meet with you to tell you straight away. How horrid it must have been for you to find out in this vile manner."

 

"But how do you know?" Lord Grantham asked. "Hasn't Carlisle kept his plans secret before splashing them out in headlines?"

Michael settled back, on firmer footing at last.  
"But I'm a newspaper man, too, and a far better one than Richard Carlisle.  
"A friend of mine tipped me off that he was going to try to ambush me with this for a quote, thinking me too weakened to resist a response.

"So I came here immediately. We'll come up with a story together, and form a solid wall of defense. He might be able to insinuate the worst, but he can't do much damage unless he finds either proof or gets a quote of admission."

 

"The farmer?" asked Mary, still careful not to give over names in case of duplicity by Gregson.  
"Is safely away and quite satisfied," answered her father. "I've kept an eye out to help him in every way these last few years, so neither he or his wife carries a grudge."

"There was paperwork in Switzerland," began Edith.  
"As long as it was a small clinic and you didn't advertise your whereabouts, it would be like finding a pebble on a beach," comforted Bertie.  
"We'll assume he won't find it, but if he does, I can probably squash anything from over there," added Michael. "I had an idea."

 

"We'll all support your current story and scoff at the idea of anything else. But we can have a 'fall back' story of sorts in case he breaches our defenses.  
"We'll have as an escape that Marigold is my daughter, but not by Lady Edith. She's my daughter by a mistress I had at the time."  
Gregson's eyes widened slightly as the men of the family angrily stood. 

"No, not Edith. I repeat. Not Edith. She will be cast as my confidante, a trusted employee who was with the other woman who gave birth and died. Edith brought the child over and made arrangements for care, even taking it in when she thought me dead so that the girl would end up with her rightful inheritance."

 

Henry Talbot nodded slowly. "Which would be a clever story anyway. Because it would explain Edith's location in Switzerland if needs be. And if worse comes to worst, provides a headline but little scandal, since a man having a child out of wedlock isn't...news."

Talbot smiled apologetically over at Bertie and Edith. "I don't judge, of course, even just finding this out. I know you two too well to think anything ill."

 

"So we're just to ignore it? We met here to decide to ignore it?" Mary was rather exasperated with them all.  
"No, Mary," said Tom. "We've met so that no one is surprised into an admission and so that we know that we're all working together."  
"And so that Michael can finally see Marigold," Edith said quietly.  
"She's upstairs."

 

Gregson met her eyes directly and smiled into them.  
"As your former publisher and friend, it makes sense that I drop by from time to time."  
He looked directly at Bertie. "And, of course, I'll love to see your daughter when I come, if it's agreeable to her father."  
Bertie felt his eyes well up. "Perfectly understandable," he agreed. "The best to be expected."  
"Thank you, Mr. Gregson."

\---

"So we'll avoid feeding the county a scandal, which is excellent news." Lord Grantham commented once Marigold's three parents had gone up to the nursery. "Golly what a day."  
Cora nodded, smiling, and bent to murmur to Tom.

Meanwhile Henry went to his wife's side. He tipped his forehead against hers, in public or not, hoping he could somehow transfer some of his thoughts directly to her brain. ("I love you. I've got you. Trust me, please.")  
As he moved back, Mary sighed.  
"The week started so simply," she said. "Why can't anything ever be happy and simple?"

Together they'd live to battle on.


	44. Chapter 44

(Warnings for a sad part.)  
-  
-  
-

 

Sure enough, Richard Carlisle tried to crack the story from all fronts. 

First, he ambushed Gregson as soon as the man turned up back in London.  
Carlisle had been given the slip and didn't know where Michael had gone, but he knew as soon as the man was back at his home.  
There, at his publishing house, even at restaurants, Carlisle stalked his prey until he finally caught him--seemingly unaware--with the 'surprise' inquiry.  
Michael Gregson didn't flinch.   
If the Germans hadn't broken him, a scandal mongering journalist certainly wouldn't. 

 

Carlisle was going on rumors from the two flappers that the little girl of Edith's looked enough like Gregson that their set made 'assumptions.' But that certainly wouldn't be news, even in his rags, except maybe as a blind item.  
And Gregson was making no movement to help the story along with a paternity suit.

 

So next, Richard thought to shake Lady Mary.   
He assumed that, given their past history, she would be a weak link to break.   
He was quite wrong. 

Lady Mary had become less susceptible to blackmail over the years, rather than more.   
When Richard Carlisle had dared to approach her as she entered a dressmaker's with Cora, Mary had promptly and coldly bitten his head off.   
She called him a fool for thinking that 'little, mousy Edith' would ever have a scandal. Then she laughed in his face when he tried to leverage hers. 

 

"That old tale," she sneered. "I've two husbands since then, and no one would care about one long gone Turk anyway. Where exactly is your proof, Richard? A statement from a dead woman?"  
"Besides I simply don't care what people think." And with that lie, well told, she left him.

 

When he even tried to contact Brancaster, Bertie's mother wouldn't let him on the phone with her son.   
The redoubtable dowager didn't know this Richard Carlisle or what he might want, however, she knew he was pushing in and sensed he meant harm somehow.   
He would not pass.

\----

 

But though they'd ducked the major blow that they'd all been fearing, poor Edith was not to come out unscathed.  
Unfortunately, all of the stress brought labor on earlier than they'd anticipated. 

Buttercup, who'd toured Europe safely, kicking and strong, had a rough delivery.   
Born with a cord around his tiny self, the infant boy did not survive.

 

"But he looks so perfect. Ten little fingers. Ten little toes," Edith sobbed over the baby.  
"Perfect," Bertie agreed, giving over to his own tears, as he cradled the swaddled wax doll.

And while it wasn't exactly true, Edith cursed Richard Carlisle in her heart for causing this loss, and knew that if she ever could, she'd do him harm.


	45. Chapter 45

-  
-  
"Jimmy?" Daisy questioned, turning from her post by the counter and catching sight of the man.  
Joe Miller turned with her, away from their task.  
"In the flesh," Jimmy Kent replied, flashing a brash smile.  
"Where is everybody? I got all the way in without once seeing a soul," the blond man joked.

 

Daisy blinked twice and tried to order her thoughts. (Leave it to Jimmy to just push in.)  
"Part went down to London to ready the house. The rest had the burial before and London after," she said as a thin wail came from the corner. 

"Burial?" Jimmy's face paled.  
"At Brancaster," Miller supplied, not wanting to put him out of his concern, but doing it any way. "Not a full funeral, but the family still went."

 

"What are you doing here Jimmy?" Daisy insisted, picking up and jiggling a fractious babe on her arm.  
Jimmy stared, startled, at the tiny infant. "Yours?"  
The other two laughed outright at his amazed face.

"That's what you get for keeping so out of touch. Yes, mine, you ninny. Mrs. Patmore went down to London, since I'm not yet supposed to travel," Daisy frowned. "So old fashioned they are."

 

"Being left alone in charge doesn't bother you a whit, besides Dilly & Dolly come first," grinned Joe, using the unfortunate nickname from Beryl for the twins. He turned to study Jimmy more directly.  
"But she is right to ask, Mr. Kent. What brings you finally back to our fair village? Just wandering by?"

"Or needing another loan?" Daisy mumbled, too low under her breath for either man to hear.

"I've the money. For Thomas," Jimmy patted an envelope in his chest pocket. "He gave me money, and I've saved enough finally to finish paying it back."

 

"Well, Mr. Barrow isn't here, but we can lock it in his office for his return. I've a set of keys from Mrs. Hughes that open everything, though it might take me a bit to find the right one."  
Daisy Parker placed her quieted baby down next to his sister and reached out a calloused hand.  
"I can come back," Jimmy said, stepping away.

 

"No, I'll unlock the door and let you put it there if you don't trust me," she said with a bit of a sniff.  
"Daisy, I trust you, I just want..." but he got no further, as Daisy pushed past and went down the hall.  
"Come on. Step lively. I don't have many to feed this week, but not everyone's gone and the luncheon won't prepare itself, no matter how simple."

 

Miller gave a chuckle at Jimmy's look. "Might as well obey her, son. She's a force, that little girl."  
And they both trailed the cook down the hall. 

 

Jimmy entered the butler's office and instantly relaxed.  
Thomas.  
The place smelled faintly of brilliantine, peppermint, and citrus.  
No smoke? Perhaps just faintly now.  
And, of course, the ticking of clocks.

 

Kent took the envelope and made to open the desk's top drawer to stow it away.  
"Best not," Daisy warned. No one touched that desk but Mr. Barrow himself.  
Jimmy gave her a lazy grin over his shoulder.  
"Tell him to yell at me next time, then," he said. "I'm not leaving the entirety of my savings on a desk top."

 

What he saw in the drawer made him smile all the more.  
"And it'll fit, anyway," he said. For in the drawer was a stack of correspondence, his latest on top.  
(Jimmy wished he was alone to flip through and check them.)

 

Miller caught the look, and could guess at the meaning.  
Joe knew that Kent still wrote to Thomas, and that Thomas wrote back when he'd had an address.  
However, he didn't know that he kept the other man's letters, and the thought was some how upsetting. 

 

Jimmy closed the drawer with a slight bang, and turned to face Daisy.  
"After you, madame chatelaine," he teased, trying to jolly her up.  
The three left the office and Parker locked the door.  
"Tell Mr. Barrow I'll be visiting soon. Now that I've paid my debts and am not a scapegrace, I figured I can show myself."

"But you'll be in the area for a while, Jimmy?" Daisy asked, still unsure how exactly James Kent had appeared at their door and unsure whether to trust his word.  
He took no note of what was left unspoken.

 

"Oh, forever and a day," Jimmy replied with a wink. "I've finally decided to settle myself down and got a job in York. But I'll save that story for Thomas--Mr. Barrow--and the rest when everyone's back."  
"And maybe we can play cards again, Mr. Miller."

Then, not having been invited for luncheon, Jimmy Kent casually walked out the door whistling.  
Daisy and Joe were just left to look at one another and frown.

\---

"You don't need to do it this month or next, of course, but say in the spring," Harold said in a tone that brooked no argument.  
"Whether it's here or at Downton is up to you Ladies. I don't know the ropes. But invite anyone you think might invest to tea or something and we'll work the room. If we positively have to, we'll even make it a party."

Lord Grantham rolled his eyes in distaste, and even Mary had to admit that her desire for commerce didn't extend to hitting up guests at a party....or even discussing business the week after her stillborn nephew was quietly buried.

 

"Discreetly. Madeleine's been trying to work on that with me," and here Harold gave a rather braying laugh.  
His fond look at his young bride was encouraging.  
"I know it's not usually 'done' here, but if we cover New York ways with a layer of Yorkshire manners, we could rope investors in an instant."

 

Henry Talbot seemed to be considering and Tom Branson was already nodding.  
If they could find some more liquid assets, they could expand the auto business--and its profits--rapidly, which would benefit Downton immensely.  
Neither man, however, lacked the sense to talk about it tonight.

 

"Let's not worry about this now, Harold," Cora cautioned serenely. "It isn't the time."  
Abashed, Levinson gave his sister an apologetic look.  
"Let's get you settled into the house and your own servants hired. I'll help Madeleine with that if she wishes.  
"And you gentleman can go and make introductions at the right shops and establishments. But we'll not dive into business quite yet, please."  
Though her tone was quiet, Cora obviously would 'brook no argument' on that.

So the conversation turned to gentler topics.

\---

"Lord and Lady Grantham all cut up and he's talking money," said Mr. Barrow with a shake of his head.  
"More brass than brains, some people," commented Mrs. Patmore.

"Well, we've almost got the house straight and the girls I've got helping will serve for permanent, I think," added Mrs. Hughes. "At least he brought his own valet and cook."  
"So it's just a butler and another footman yet to screen, and you know Lady Grantham will take your recommendation without argument, Mr. Barrow."  
Mrs. Hughes gave a nod to the other two, "Let's hope it ends fast."

They were all missing their own hearths back in Downton.

\---

"I know he didn't live the day, and I know mama and others have had it happen, but to me the loss is just as much as a child grown."  
Edith sat looking blankly out the window, as she tried to explain to Bertie why she (again) would not be coming down to eat.

 

"My darling, I understand, and I'm grieving, too. I just know that we've got to grieve and yet still go on living for our Marigold." Bertie didn't try to hide his tears or sorrow.  
He reached out and pulled Edith into an embrace, smoothing her hair and making comforting sounds under his breath.

"Yes, we must. But not today, and maybe not tomorrow," Edith said.  
"I promise I'm trying, but just not quite yet."


	46. Chapter 46

(Note: 'pablum' is an anachronism, since apparently it was originated in 1930 and I'm in 1928. But I like the word, so I left it in even so. LOL And a slight warning for mean things said about Jimmy. They aren't so very mean.)

p>

 

Thomas Barrow was brooding. He knew it and tried to stop himself, but the dark cloud just wouldn't leave his brain.  
He missed familiar surroundings. (The bed in London was lumpy in ways his body had never learned to accomodate.)  
And he missed Joe keeping him on an even keel. (Though Thomas would die rather than admit it, he'd begun to start conversations looking for a word of advice.)  
Further, he missed his life at the Abbey, every hour of the day plodding so comfortably and predictably by--though even that would not be true for long, as they bit by bit made adjustments for the babies.

  

Thomas loved them; he'd admit it privately in a secret corner of his mind.  
He loved Daisy and Andy and their babies.  
But he was surprised that this birth seemed to cause so many ripples in his life.  
Andy, for instance:  
Andy was bordering on obsession, each conversation about babies, babies, babies.  
(Perhaps it was having no Nanny?)

  

Mrs. Patmore even joined in the enthusiasm.  
And while Mr. Barrow was always included and welcomed in the conversations, he yet felt a bit boxed out.  
"Couldn't you love your child and still have adult conversations?" he wondered.  
Anna and Bates seemed to, and they reverenced the little prince.

 

("He'll settle down, Mr. Barrow," Anna had said, accurately interpreting a wayward scowl at dinner. "He's just the type to wear his heart on his sleeve.")

 

So Thomas brooded on, not sure if his mood was petty (for not having a child of his own...though he'd practically taken over Master George) or silly (surely I can let Andy have some time to gloat).  
He missed having a friend to chum around with who wasn't focused on pablum.  
He'd gotten used to company. (Fancy that!)  
Joe wasn't here. Andy was pre-occupied. Chances were Daisy would be in the same state when they returned.

 

Suddenly Thomas remembered Master George practically forcing both Jimmy and Joe out of the room on various occasions, not wanting to give up his attention.  
"Am I no more mature than George?"  
His lips twitched up slightly.  
"Not flattering, that."  
He smoothed back his hair and checked himself in the mirror, ready to get back to work.

Maybe with effort, daddy Andrew would finally decide it was acceptable to part with some cash on a night out in London.  
If not, maybe Thomas would treat.  
He'd even include Bates if it came to it.

\---

Aware that he was being his "old" spikey self, Mr. Barrow made an effort to do something nice.  
Such activities were easier for him to suss out these days, since he'd had more practice.  
And Thomas had always been very observant of people behind that iron mask of his.

  

While telephones were installed in more and more locations, long distance calls were still considered luxuries.  
Suddenly, however, Mr. Barrow found it absolutely mandatory that he call back to the Abbey and coordinate the family's return next week.  
(And if Andy Parker happened to be standing by to say hello to wife and infants, so much the happy coincidence.)

 

Daisy Parker, quite the modern when it came to such devices, had no trouble answering the call.  
"Mrs. Parker, Downton Abbey. How may I help you?" she chirruped.  
"Mr. Barrow, London House, nice of you to offer," he mimicked her tone back, adding a dash of sarcasm.

 

Thomas heard a slight dragging of furniture as Daisy took the chair by the phone and a minor squawk in the background as, undoubtedly, she shifted an armload of one twin or the other.  
"Mr. Barrow? It everyone well?" Daisy asked, seeking to clear her worries first...since they knew everyone was not always well in their worlds. 

"Fine. Everything's fine, Daisy. I just wanted a few words." Thomas proceeded briefly to give her details of date, place, and hour of arrival and a few directives to be done beforehand. Everything, of course, could have been handled in a letter.  
"And I have someone here to talk to you....briefly." Thomas gave a friendly glare to Andy, who'd been fairly dancing round the phone in anticipation.

"Wait, Thomas. Mr. Barrow. Wait. I've one last thing to tell you, since we're speaking.  
"I'm not sure I want to tell you, but I will anyway," she started.  
"You aren't quitting me?" he asked. (Hating how he sounded. Always thinking that someone was about to leave him.)

"No, but you had a visitor. Jimmy."  
Thomas's head came up, expressionless in spite of surprise. "Oh."

  

Static crackled on the line for a moment, then Daisy's voice floated back.  
"And he said he'd come around again, so I'm sure you'll like that fine.  
"There was no rush to tell, but I promised myself I'd be out with it first chance."  
("I wanted truly to not say anything at all," she left unspoken.)

 

Daisy stopped to take a breath.  
Thomas Barrow had become her closest friend, save Andy.  
He was as much her family as the people who lived with her.  
They weren't 'mates' in the way of men, but they were still friends--she was really most absolutely sure of it, and she didn't want him hurt again. 

"Jimmy's careless, and I'm going to murder him if he does something foolish, but I know you'll want to see him, so I didn't put him off."  
Mr. Barrow nodded slowly, then realizing she couldn't see him, managed a "yes, Daisy, thank you. It's good news that he's safe."  
"I hope he finally lives up to what you see in him, Thomas. I truly do."

  

Thomas handed over the phone to Andy without another word.

\---

And how was Joe Miller reacting to this?  
Not as well as he would have expected.

In the grey light of morning, Joe sat with a cup of tea still mulling over the visitor of two days before.  
And he didn't like where his mind was heading.  
Joe had learned over the years that you couldn't change anyone's feelings--fear or love.  
This had made him both very open and accepting of whatever lovers came his way....and also very closed off and protecting of himself. 

 

Miller had begun to trust Thomas enough to think that he might not just be temporary like the rest.  
That he'd not have to manage a cheerful, phlegmatic parting which kept everyone on good terms.  
That he could not be so "careful" in his attachments, knowing they'd soon be severed.

"Damn it. How the fuck did I start to fall for the bastard?" he muttered, not for the first time.

 

True, he'd known about Jimmy, that ghost at the back of his lover's brain.  
He'd seen the two of them, years ago when Kent was a footman. Thomas and his golden shadow bullying around outside, cynically commenting on the world.  
Joe had steered clear from them both.

 

Jimmy Kent, the "lady's man," coming to mooch money when he had a crisis, dragged by Andy into their card game, trying to scalp the group.  
(And failing, always failing it seemed.)  
Jimmy Kent whom Thomas admitted thinking of when hearing music at the Tower Picture House.....and who now had a job in York, undoubtedly at that very same (coincidental?) spot.

 

Miller knew what Thomas thought about James Kent.  
He was his 'best friend,' in spite of years apart. He was someone Thomas still sought to impress.  
But nothing more, so Barrow said.  
(Thomas mouthed the agreed upon script that Kent was a "lady's man"....while never having seemed to totally give up hope.)  
It was bearable--everyone had a past.

 

"But bloody hell."  
Jimmy living nearby for the rest of their lives together?  
Having his face rubbed in second best?  
A man had pride! 

Even worse--what if Jimmy didn't leave him second pick, but decided to take Thomas away?  
Was Jimmy truly only a lady's man?

 

That was where Joe wasn't so sure. That was what kept him up and rattled his brain this grey morning.  
Because what gave Thomas that hope over the years were the same signs Miller himself saw.  
(Say one thing, act another.)  
So which of the them was the self-deluding fool?

 

The gamekeeper gulped the last of his tea, playing out the worst case.  
Surely, even if they came together in one big reckoning, surely Thomas would realize that the Jimmy Kent he loved was just some self-indulgent fantasy, not the real man.  
That vain, pretentious little peacock? That bit of fluff?  
Thomas was smarter than that, wasn't he? (Surely. Surely.)

"This is what you get, Joe Miller. This is what you've left yourself open to." Joe rose and slammed his chair under the table.

 

The work waited for no man.  
Perhaps Kent wouldn't even return, in spite of what he'd said.  
He certainly hadn't kept his word in the past.  
Or he was, indeed, ready to settle for some silly village lass.

It was a thin reed on which to base his day's comfort.  
Muttering curses to himself, Miller set out about the day.


	47. Chapter 47

-  
-  
They'd left the kitchen arrangement much as they had the butler's: Mrs. Patmore would return as 'senior statesman' when needed, but Daisy....Mrs. Parker....was now the official head cook.   
Andy jokingly brought her a large ladle back from London to celebrate the day. 

And with 'great privilege' came 'great responsibility'--her first ever hiring decision, that of a new scullery maid. 

"It took more effort and study you hiring that one little girl than we did the entire new staff in London," Mr. Barrow drawled, teasing her.   
But Daisy was quite proud of her choice.  
For the girl's quick "Yes, Mrs. Parker. No, Mrs. Parker" made the cook smile with the memories of herself at 16.

 

They were nearing the Christmas season, and all the usual preparations were underway-- Daisy absolutely intent on pulling out all stops.

The downstairs smelled of cloves, ginger, and licorice root. Baskets were overflowing with fragrant apples and citrus, colorfully spilling out onto the counter with a few rare pineapples.   
No expense was spared...nuts, peppermints, all sorts were at hand for holiday nibbles around the upstairs and (stealthily) down.

Add in the onions, sage, and garlic...a cabinet full of spices for the savories...the good smells were quite overwhelming.  
Yes, Mrs. Parker enjoyed the feeling of abundance that came with her position.

 

Of course, there was a doubling of labors as the down side.   
Andy, for instance, was not so thrilled with all the polishing required by the holidays.   
Each year tradition demanded a special repousse silver service was brought out and used. The set had multiple pieces and the design was old and ornate--a horror to polish.   
Fortunately, the task ended with the new year.

 

At least one good thing came from the task, however: polishing silver occupied your hands while it let you rest your mind.   
And Andy's mind could use a bit of rest these days, since the twins were being colicky.  
The young footman was now quite used to be turned back by Mr. Barrow to fix his hair or adjust his livery--he was as out of sorts on the outside as his brain felt on the inside.

 

Daisy was lucky to not need as much sleep.  
"How goes it?" she'd ask him around mid morning, sneaking him extra tea or coffee.  
"Quiet, blessedly quiet" he'd answer with a grin, taking the proffered stimulant.  
(And that and a kiss was all.)

\---

 

At Yew Tree Farm Mrs. Patmore, now more usually known as Beryl, was unpacking some of the boxes of ornaments she'd inherited over the years.   
The B&B had come with its own set, complete from the Philpotts aunt who'd favored her with the bequest. (Annie would see to the fat little pine in that front room.)  
However, the Patmores had left behind a trunkload or two, too, and until recently Beryl had been too busy to even open the lids.   
This year was a change in all that. 

 

Consequently, any table top had a doily and a bobble. Every curtain rod had a festoon.  
Even the double cradle the men had crafted for the twins had a small bit of tinseled pine on top.  
Beryl Mason had a very Victorian touch when it came to decoration, toting babies and dropping glittery items all day long.  
Bertie Mason was amused. ("A gem of a woman, this Beryl.")

 

Mason gave way to his bride in all her holiday caprices and enjoyed each day filled with babies and small feasts and warmth.  
The old farmer had even hauled in an oversized tree for the parlor, now decked with tiny candles since electric on a tree still made the older woman roll her eyes.  
The couple were in their glory.

\---

And at the big house, the tree was also the focus of attention and care.

By now, Miss Sybbie and Master George had quite specific notions on how a holiday pine should look.   
Every ornament had to be carefully studied and placed just so.  
"Do you remember this, papa?" Sybbie would ask, then launch into a long account of whatever was in her hands.  
"I like this one best," George would insist, going round to find a central spot. (Though only a few feet from the ground.)

 

The tree had been carefully selected, with this year's honor going to the Reilly tenancy.  
It was a fine fifteen foot specimen, and it graced the grand hall with the scent of snow and pine.  
George had found a birds nest hidden in one of the lower branches, tucked back a ways out of sight.  
And though his mother declared it "dirty" and suggested it be tossed out, Master George had argued victoriously that it should stay. (So it did, with three small red balls added as 'eggs.')

 

Lord Grantham had decided that they would have the traditional open house for the tenants in the afternoon this year, making it slightly less elaborate.   
Everyone was cutting back, what with the economy, and he felt the need to balance tradition versus making the tenants believe the big house was living well at their expense.

They would put the same effort into the food and drink, but the farmers would be welcomed with less stiff formality.  
Branson had taught him something of the lower classes, after all.

\---

In the village, Talbot and Branson's showroom also sported a tree--one festooned with electric lights and odd bits of this and that.   
Tom had organized it, but mechanics had decorated it....and it distinctly lacked a woman's touch.  
But they stood round it in right good humor, having their catch up at the end of each work day, and felt both happy and successful in their enterprise.

\---

Up in the children's rooms the same cheerful lack of taste applied to a variety of holiday projects proposed by Nanny.   
This particular Nanny was of the artistic bent and, while she helped the children in their secret quests to BUY presents, she also led them through the tangles of paste and paper to MAKE creations sure to delight their (not too discriminating) loved ones. 

 

The toddlers made for the most fun in this process, getting more in their hair and various bodily crevices than on the projects....but still feeling very proud of the effort.  
("Look at that! It's wonderful! Look at you, you wonderful little thing!")

 

Also, funnily enough, was the pride of the adults of the Abbey in their efforts at gift giving.  
For again, they faced down the holiday, trying their best for things that were practical but special, pretty but durable. 

Last year's surprises on the parts of the Bates family had set the bar entirely too high, and Anna frankly told Mr. Bates that this year they should forego presents altogether.   
He agreed. (Then they both quietly got something small, sentimental, and precious.)

 

The Carsons had finally got a telephone for their Christmas 'splurge,' ("Do you remember that first phone, Charlie?" she'd teased him, knowing that he'd practiced answering on the sly. "It's quite a useful instrument," Carson admitted, though usually loathe to appreciate invention.)

The Moseleys "wild extravagance" took the form of a half day trip to a large bookstore in Ripon, where they bought anything either one fancied without regard to budget for once in the year.   
Such a lovely time, the holidays, both agreed.  
By the time the two bibliophiles were finished, they almost couldn't carry themselves home.

\---

And at the gamekeeper's cottage, Thomas Barrow helped Miller decorate the tree with a precision and haughty style born of many years work at the big house.   
Thomas was very particular about his tinsel, and they almost came to blows when Joe tried to merely throw on clumps here and there.

 

Since the cottage was still a gathering spot for their usual rowdies, Thomas felt the effort warranted.  
Indeed two nights later Jimmy came with Andy, who for once didn't lose at cards.  
This miracle was accompanied by the fact that everyone seemed to get along.  
Filled with the holiday spirit--and several drinks besides--the men had a fine evening.  
(And if Joe still found his nerves a bit frayed by the whole thing, he kept such 'emotions' entirely to himself.) 

 

Meanwhile, unaware of any potential undercurrents, Thomas felt lighter than he had in years.   
He had a lover he cared for and two actual male friends.   
(Three if you counted Bates. Thomas still wasn't sure if he counted Bates.)   
Daisy, and Phyllis, and Anna, too.

Finally they were alone.  
For that moment in time, the lonely, arrogant, combative Mr. Barrow gave up and just let himself feel blessed. (Didn't have to remind himself. Didn't have to force himself. Just felt it in his bones, blessed.)

"Happy Christmas, Joe," he smiled, pulling out a gift he'd been hiding behind some books.  
"Many more."   
And as they kissed, the room spun and fell away.  
Who would want to disturb such a thing?

 

The year of 1928 had a bit more bad than good, but on balance everyone agreed that they had no right to be unhappy.  
In each of the households, the happy couples sipped holiday punch and sighed in satisfaction.  
And they all hoped that 1929 would not be....rocky.


	48. Chapter 48

-  
-  
The days of January were still in single digits.  
Leftover 'Christmas pudding' fudge still remained, carefully hoarded in hidden corners by a certain butler.  
A drooping pine branch stayed in the nursery window at the insistence of young George.  
No one wanted to let go of that last bit of holiday feeling. 

 

Outside the air was chill.  
They weren't in the dead of winter, true.  
But it was that time of year when you wrapped a scarf around you in addition to your coat. It was the time when wool gloves and mittens made the room smell slightly as they dried upon the stove vents.

 

Upstairs, Lady Merton had weathered the cold to come on important business.

 

"If it's important enough, you'll find a way," insisted Isobel, speaking to Cora in the sitting room.  
The older woman had recently discovered two very poor and hungry families within the confines of the village. (There were certainly more, but today's mission focused on just these two for a start.)

The father of one needed care at the hospital, leading her to the discovery of the condition of the rest of his family.  
"January is not the time to be poor in Yorkshire," she pushed on, knowing that Cora had a soft heart, though also knowing that she had to be careful not to push too far.

 

Lady Grantham, for all her kindness, could be a bit touchy in matters of pride.

"But I don't see what you expect me to do," Cora responded, waiting the other woman out. 

Isobel and her causes were not unexpected at any time.  
She and Cora frequently crossed paths outside the Abbey, doing hospital business.  
Many times the causes were worthy.  
Sometimes, however, Lady Grantham felt that Lady Merton did not entirely believe in the rights of property....she seemed intent on redistributing everyone's wealth wherever the mood struck.

 

"What I'm proposing is this: we add a soup kitchen to the hospital. We already have a kitchen to feed the patients. Why not their families while they convalesce?  
"Even if they aren't poor, they don't have much time to cook when they're facing a crisis. Why not help them?"

Isobel tilted her head and stared at Cora.  
Both women had the confidence born of command. (Even if most men didn't realize just how commanding women could be.)

 

"And do you have any figures on what this might cost?" Cora asked.  
Now that she had been on the board of the hospital, Cora no longer thought it unladylike to inquire. In fact, she had found that sometimes asking this question at an early juncture helped decide the point. 

"Of course," Isobel said. "I did anticipate you might want them."  
The older woman actually grinned at the younger. 

 

Cora smirked slightly in acknowledgement of the jest and took the papers.  
"Perhaps..." she said. "It's a good point. It's just how much to do with what we've got. And our goal is always the patient."

"Yes, but isn't supporting their family part of the same?" Isobel pushed, then sat back.  
They exchanged a look.  
"Perhaps," Cora repeated.  
And with that, another project was launched.

\---

Lady Mary sat in Carson's front room sipping tea.  
Mr. Carson had been ill since the turn of the year according to Mrs. Hughes, and Mary had determined to bring in a basket of good things from the big house kitchen and check out his convalescence.  
She was surprised all over again to see grey in the old butler's hair.

 

"It's just a bit of a cough, my lady, Mrs. Hughes shouldn't have bothered you with it," Carson protested once more.  
Lady Mary smiled. "Nonsense. Besides I'm in desperate need of your advice."  
With that, Carson's eyebrows rose.  
Ah, she'd piqued his interest with her ploy.

 

"My uncle suggested we host a summer party to solicit investors," Lady Mary said it with as much distain as possible. "Now I know it's horrible, but both Mr. Branson and Mr. Talbot think it might be a good idea. And papa has come round to their side.  
"You must speculate to accumulate."

"Anyway, what I'd like your advice on is how to host a proper party, when you're trying to hide a grubby American money scheme."  
Here, Lady Mary allowed a small amused smile, not unaware that she had American blood in her veins though she was loathe to admit it.

 

"Indeed, that seems impossible," rumbled Carson.  
"And wouldn't it be more fitting to ask Mr. Barrow?" This last comment took some effort on Carson's behalf.  
He had grown used to not being the one in charge, but he still didn't like to mull over the matter too much. 

 

"I'm sure I'll talk to Barrow. He's very good. But what do you think? If we absolutely must?" Lady Mary took a sip of tea and teased the conversation along.  
Mr. Carson already looked brighter for the interaction.  
Mary was very glad she'd come to visit.

\---

"It's so dull in mid winter," Lord Grantham complained as Bates brought him a change of jacket.  
"I feel like going on a shoot. I wonder if I could sneak out without her ladyship knowing."

 

Robert gave a boyish grin, in spite of the grey in his hair.  
He enjoyed keeping the 'show' going, making sure to supervise to completion all of the repairs the younger people started, keeping track of those in service and those in his village.  
But he also liked a good day of fun now and again.

 

"We could get someone to load for you, my lord," Bates said, grinning back. "If nothing else, you could practice your shot. But mightn't it be too cold?"  
"Nonsense," said Lord Grantham. "I've walked through snows across these hills. A little cold is nothing."

"Fetch me the tweeds, will you? At least I'm walking out."  
And Bates sent word down with a hall boy as he got the clothing--someone would 'walk out' with Lord Grantham to assist him on his 'shoot.'  
Mr. Bates was nothing if not careful of his lordship's well being these days.

\----

 

"I'm afraid I have a bit of awkward business to share with you, Mr. Branson," Barrow began.  
Tom tipped his head in question, putting the papers aside.  
Barrow hesitated, a slight flush creeping into his cheeks.  
"I'm not sure how to begin," he faltered. 

 

Tom grinned. "You have my attention. Sit?"  
Barrow shook his head no, considering it improper.  
"It's Miss Sybbie, you see."  
The grin left Branson's face.  
"Everything is fine," Thomas hurried on. "At least it's fine enough."  
"But she's got it in her head that she wants to marry....me."

 

The blush grew stronger, but a slight smirk and raised eyebrow let Tom know that Barrow could see the irony of it all.  
Branson barked a laugh.

He poured two drinks, moving to hand one to Thomas.  
When the man demurred, Tom persisted. "When interviewing prospective sons in laws, I believe it's customary to share a drink. I absolutely insist."

 

Barrow took the glass then, mind quickly slipping back to the time Grantham had been 'interviewing' Philip, doing the same thing.  
Philip was also the last nobleman with whom Barrow had shared a drink.

"So exactly what has my wanton been doing that led you to ask for my help?"  
Tom again nodded to a seat, and this time Thomas took it and carefully took a tiny sip.

 

"Well, she did it once before after some fairy story Nanny read. Cast me as the handsome prince," Barrow looked Branson in the face and allowed his careful expression to give way to a smile.  
("My what a lot of teeth the man has," Tom thought.)  
Barrow's mask came back.

"But this time, she seems to not be letting go of it like before. She seems intent on actually acting out the parts, which I thought might be deemed improper.  
"And she's got Master George in on it, too."

 

"Oh, lord, if Georgie's in on it, you're sunk," Tom laughed, well knowing Barrow's weakness for the child.  
Tom tried to think. "Hmmm...well, I'll see if I can help loosen her hold, but I don't know how much help I'll be sticking my oar in. She's a lot like her mother, Sybbie is, a woman of strong opinions."  
And they both took a sip, remembering another young lady past.

 

"At any rate, don't worry about it being deemed improper, even if worse comes to worst and a bridegroom they make you." Tom grinned. "I'll even be best man at the wedding."  
Barrow flushed slightly again.

 

For someone who pursued a so-called 'deviant' lifestyle,  
Tom thought, Thomas was amazingly prudish and easily embarrassed.  
Of course all the English he'd met seemed a bit reluctant to show their emotion--at least the nobles People like his workers were usually better.  
(But, of course, everyone in the house took their direction from those on the top.)

Mr. Barrow stood, inclined his head respectfully, and made to leave.

Tom grinned; he might enjoy this.


	49. Chapter 49

(Warnings for a pale Irish man with his shirt off, m/f if it's not your thing (totally NOT explicit), and an angsty Jimmy. )

\---  
\---

 

Anna rolled over and yawned, her hair mussed beyond recognition.  
Though there were a few threads of grey in it now, unleashed like this it looked like nothing more than a river of gold on the pillow case.  
"My milk and honey love," Mr. Bates called her, a twinkle in his eye.  
Anna rubbed her face against the roughness of his chest, all burly hair and pale Irish skin.  
She inhaled. 

 

"You naughty girl," he whispered. "Don't wake me in that manner unless we've time to finish what you've started."  
Anna giggled.  
So aloof in public, her husband was a very romantic lad in bed.  
"I've been thinking," she began, a smile still in her voice.  
"Heaven help us," he replied.

 

She laughed full out. "Now, John, you listen. Lady Mary said something that set my mind thinking."  
"Shall we postpone conversations of work until a slightly later hour," Mr. Bates said, as he began to kiss what he knew to be a very sensitive spot on her neck.  
"Mr. Bates, behave," Anna giggled, wiggling back away.  
Exasperated he stopped, a mocking huff escaping his lips.

 

"Lady Mary commented on Valentine's being the main reason for so many fall babies.  
"She was talking about dinner plans and clothes, this and that," Anna's voice trailed off.

"Such racy topics a lady's maid hears, at least Lady Mary's maid," Bates said, kissing her nose lightly.  
"So does that have you thinking perhaps of us?" he added, smiling. If they could have managed it, Bates would have had a household of children with his beloved wife.

 

"I know it's expensive, but, yes, it started me thinking that we might want another 'addition'?" Anna barely got the words out before John rolled and pounced.  
Thoroughly kissed, she managed. "A yes, then, Mr. Bates?"  
Raising his head and looking into her beautiful eyes, he smiled. "Most definitely, yes, Mrs. Bates."

They might be a bit late to the big house that morning after all.

 

\---

 

"I think there's a holiday coming," smiled Andy as he and his wife entered the servants door.  
"Really?" Daisy smiled up at him from below her lashes, biting her lip and dimpling. 

Their anniversary and Valentine's all in one.  
She was amazed he'd remembered it anyway, what with all the uproar of two babies and two very doting 'grandparents' out at Yew Tree.  
"And I'm thinking we should celebrate in some way. Maybe go to a nice dinner at the Netherby? Mr. Bates said he has a standing way in with the maitre de," Andy suggested, having discussed this at cards a week before.

 

Daisy blushed and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.  
She might be frightened at times by what all they faced these days, but she still knew she'd done the right thing, accepting Andy as a husband.  
"Such a good husband, really, I know."  
The footman grinned and blushed completely red.  
He loved making his Daisy happy.

\---

"And so, as to Valentine's," Joe Miller began, having first checked behind the shelves for Master George. (Thomas flushed slightly, perhaps remembering last year?)  
They'd not seen each other for over a week, what with work and the complex matter of logistics.  
Miller was glad to have tracked Thomas to his lair.

 

"I'm thinking something with just us two? I'd say dinner, but last year was a lot of effort that just went to spoil."  
Thomas gave an amused snort, becoming rosier still. Joe came in closer and gave a light kiss then a lick.  
"Now stop that-- I'm working," Barrow protested, (though let it be said not much)  
And then, "Licking at me like some damn cat." 

 

Joe's chuckle rumbled in his ear. "A very happy cat with a dish of cream?"

They smiled at each other. "I want to remember always how you look and how you taste and all your very irritating ways which I've come to love in spite of myself." ("There, I got it out and it isn't even dark," Joe thought, proud of the accomplishment.)

They stood eye to eye, leaning in.

"You don't need to 'remember' me. I'm right here," Thomas said softly, surprised when Joe tightened his hold until it almost took his breath.  
Forgetting wrinkles and propriety, Barrow returned the rough hug, topping it with a short kiss before he pushed away.  
"Later," he said comfortably, giving one last caress. "Not. Here."

 

The moment passed and Joe chuckled.  
"Hmmmm. Usually you're the soppy old fool. Sorry," he said, though not sounding all that repentant.  
"Valentine's then?"

"Of course," Thomas replied, stepping back and resuming his usual cool demeanor.  
Three minutes at most and then they parted.  
But off and on he smiled to himself even after Joe left.

\---

 

Jimmy Kent was bored, very bored he admitted to himself as he sat at the pub nursing his pint.  
His fingers nervously drummed the table, as though in time to unheard music.  
The owner's daughter had been giving him the eye for weeks now, and he'd been flattered by the attention.  
It was almost Valentine's, and Jimmy knew he could have her if he wanted.  
But Jimmy had come back to York thinking more of Thomas than of the women he'd meet.

 

Yes, he'd admit it to himself now--though he'd known it as soon as he'd sent the drunken Valentine's card last year.  
And ran.  
He'd cut and ran as soon as his drink addled mind had cleared.  
(True, it was better to escape London before he'd been found a fraud, what with younger men showing him up. But the timing was the fear that he'd revealed a bit too much.) 

 

Over and over, every single time he'd denied it with his words.  
(His thoughts frightened him sometimes.)  
Until he gave in...a bit....and 'settled down' in York.  
He wanted to be with his friend.

 

But what had it got him?  
Time had moved on.  
Jimmy smirked at his own poor luck and motioned for another drink.  
There was nothing for it but to play the cards he was dealt--he'd dealt them himself after all.

 

It's a terrible thing to wait until you're ready. (Could anyone ever totally be ready for life?)  
At least he was no worse off for the loss, hadn't admitted to anything, still had the best friend anyone could ask for.  
And Thomas was happy. ("Showing some maturity for once, Kent? Thinking of someone else first for once?" his brain heckled him and showed him pictures of scarred wrists and grey eyes.)  
Jimmy downed the rest of his drink.

 

Surely Jimmy could do something to distract himself from the problem of Thomas.  
He smiled at the barmaid and was pleased to note her quick response.  
"Still there," Kent thought, wounded pride soothed.

And he looked at her and knew it would be easiest. Another drink or two and the path of least resistance.  
But he put down the glass and rose to pay his tab, going home...less sad, but still alone.


	50. Chapter 50

-  
-  
-  
Mary paced the dining room, having served herself a bit of breakfast.  
Married women could have a tray up, but this morning Lady Mary had decided to beard the lions in the den and eat her eggs with the men.  
They seemed to be using the time to have discussions....discussions without her.  
This wouldn't do. 

"So why exactly do you think we need to plan this fete, and what are you hoping to accomplish?" she drawled, once she had been seated.  
Barrow brought round coffee and she nodded to him.

 

"Just like you, we want to make absolutely sure Downton is stable and set for the future," Tom Branson began, always the voice of reason and peace.  
"It's been a problem, this slump after the war, but we've made a good showing. Protected the main assets, sold others for their benefit, gotten out from under any debt or lien."  
"And our investments have held steady, things people need rain or shine."

 

"But the motor business," Henry interrupted. "It's been bringing us cash steadily enough, but there's room for expansion without any risk. We just need some partners."

 

"There's always risk, Henry," Mary said, somewhat severely.  
"Not always, my darling," the Earl of Grantham admonished. "The English economy will grow soon. I feel it in my bones. We had an empire of assets to pay back the war.  
"The Germans may talk poverty, but England is steady on."

 

"No, England puts on a good face," Lady Mary said. "But I do believe in the cars you boys favor...even if I don't personally like them. You've supported my passion for pigs. I guess I can fall in for your passion of cars."  
"It does seem to have paid off enough over the year to calm my nerves on the matter."

 

"We just need to get partners," Henry said again, smiling to see his wife agreeable for once.  
"Your uncle has his money safely in pop and department stores, so he'll only kick in somewhat."  
(Mary's mouth twitched slightly in amusement to hear her uncle's vast assets described in such a manner.)

"We need to figure out who has some ready cash and lock it down," Branson said baldly. "Not all of your lot still have cash, though they all pretend it. And not all who have it will hand it to our enterprise.  
"But if we find a few and lock them down, we'll be set even if the slump gets worse."

 

Tom Branson had been reading the newspapers recently, even those from the States, and he agreed with Harold Levinson's intuition on matters financial. (They were behaving far too irresponsibly. Downton needed to assure its safety.)  
"You young people worry too much," Lord Grantham said. "Why I was reading this article where the economist promised an uptick is right round the bend...."  
Tom and Mary shared a knowing look. Her father would always be the optimist.

\---

"I think in the cowboy flicks, they'd show them 'circling the wagons,'" Andy joked to Mr. Barrow as they cleared.  
Barrow looked around briefly to make sure no one was in earshot.  
"But I'd still take it to heart, Andy. The toffs know which way the wind's blowing before the average bloke.

"I haven't money to invest, nor you either, but we'd best put aside food in our pantries. My mum went through a starving time once as a girl, and she always said you keep food in the cupboard to tide you over.  
"We lived off of her hoard one winter when the shop was having troubles. We'd've starved without."

 

Parker kept his eyes on his task.  
"Daisy puts things aside. In the bureau. In the pantry," Andy said, feeling a bit dodgy for revealing the secret even to Thomas.

"Hmmm," the butler nodded. "You do if you've ever been hungry."  
"And if it's good news, you're nothing out but extra jars on the shelf."  
They continued their work in silence, each thinking their own thoughts.  
Knowing if the Crawleys bet the wrong horse, they'd lose as well.

\---

Harold Levinson tapped the end of his nose.  
"I smell it Bigsby. I smell it coming right here as the nose on my face."

"But sir, the recent forecasts," the short, stocky man began to protest. 

"The hell with the forecasts. I'm giving you a list of stocks I want my money into. Products and services at the basic level to weather the bump that's coming.

 

"My mother has the department stores, which should keep ginning cash.  
"I kept my shares in US Steel, Standard Oil...maybe add a bit of Hollywood and Co'Cola to boot. People need to have the basics, but they also need to forget their worries. Oh, some Irish whiskey? Drown your sorrows with that."  
Levinson was coiled and ready to spring.

 

He knew his business, and once bitten twice shy with any profiteers.  
His baby sister and her husband had done him a good turn....two, really.  
Harold was going to make sure to do them the same back.  
Behind the scenes, of course-- Robert could be so damn touchy.

But he'd make sure both branches of the family not only survived, but prospered.  
There was money to be made in the wreck of an economy, just as there had been in the building of one.

\---  
\---

Two weeks later found Lady Mary mulling over the same issues.

Business couldn't even take a backseat to Valentine's, she thought sourly.  
Mary had just come back from London after a week of what was supposed to be a romantic getaway with Henry.  
It was quite nice, she had to admit, spending Valentines and the week after in London. Visiting the shows and having elaborate dinners out.  
While the Crawleys always 'dressed,' there was something special about picking an outfit to go out to a London restaurant. Even if you kept up appearances as a matter of course, you rose to the occasion in the city.

 

But they'd crossed paths with Uncle Harold and that started talk of business.  
Which Mary usually reveled in, true, but once it cluttered up her brain she found it harder to relax after and enjoy just being with Henry as a wife.  
Fifteen minute's conversation--they'd even made their excuses and not gone to dinner with Harold--but it cast a shadow.  
Mary sighed. 

 

Then she'd ridden the train back with Henry staying behind.  
Cars again.  
It was already planned and she shouldn't have minded it after having him to herself for the week, but somehow that put her out as well. 

Of course, she hadn't said anything. Just kissed him politely at the station and left him smiling that he'd pulled off all the romance of the week completed.  
It was freezing on the train, and Lady Mary pulled her fur collar up around her. Once inside, she allowed herself a frown.  
So modern looking, but no warmer than the compartments of her childhood, she thought.

 

Why if she hadn't run into Evelyn Napier on the train, she would have brooded the entire trip.  
Really. (Mary rolled her eyes.)  
Thank heavens Evelyn always knew how to cheer her up.

And even though the party was months and months away, she'd roped him into helping them, for Napier had as many connections and more across the county as the Crawleys themselves.


	51. Chapter 51

(Thank you again to the people who have been sending positive comments my way! I appreciate it! I've been doing an hour a day for over a month now, which is a lot more work than I intended for a first effort. LOL Good job, virtual folks for keeping me motivated!)

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-  
-  
Phyllis Moseley clenched her hand into a fist and pounded it against her hip.  
She stood there in Mr. Barrow's office, wanting to yell or scream, but still not daring to raise her voice.  
"You need to sit down, Mrs. Moseley--Phyllis. Just sit down right here," Barrow said, taking in her appearance in surprise.  
"I'd go up and talk to his lordship direct, I would, if he were in the house," she said eyes flashing.  
Licking her lips and trying to get control, she slid into the seat. 

 

Thomas hadn't seen Phyllis Baxter this upset since they'd been children.  
She'd suffered so many things that anger seemed beaten out of her, but here she was (though never raising her voice) quite obviously furious.  
"What is it then?" Thomas prompted. "Is it Moseley?" (And Mr. Moseley was once again lucky to not be in range when the thought hit, or he'd have lost his head to the butler before the answer was given.)

 

"No, no," Phyllis said irritably. "I don't need his lordship's help from Mr. Moseley. I need his lordship's help FOR Mr. Moseley....or, rather, the school."  
"Lord Grantham's gone and 'reconsidered' providing housing for the school, which means we'll be out of a cottage by the end of term. Or we'll have to pay a goodly rent.  
"And Joseph's father has had to move in with us. He lost his house when he got sick and couldn't work, so there's that."

 

"And you just now are telling me this?" Barrow said, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"We all work for what we get, Mr. Barrow. I wouldn't have you think me asking for help. But his lordship's help is actually to his own benefit. The school trains his workers and that housing is part of Mr. Moseley's payment for the training." Phyllis Moseley took a deep breath and calmed herself.

"Her ladyship said there was nothing to be done."  
She took out a small handkerchief and wiped at her mouth and brow, then twisted it between her hands. 

 

"Well, then we've got to find some other something than CAN be done, right?" Barrow said, nodding to the woman.  
"Lady Mary, perhaps, or even Mr. Branson. I'll have to tell you about Mr. Branson's performance in the nursery some day to cheer you up, but for now, just sit there while I go up," he said. 

"So I sit here like piffle on a rock bun?" Mrs. Moseley said. 

Mr.Barrow's mouth twitched a bit at the childish expression.  
"No, Miss Baxter, you sit there a few minutes until I come back. What I'm going to ask is if you can have the gatehouse in exchange for some labor. It means work, but no cash out of pocket, and if Mr. Moseley happens to take his dinner up here with you, well I'll put up with the inconvenience."

 

"Thomas!" Phyllis stood up and gave him a quick buss on the cheek. "Do you think?"

Mr. Barrow cleared his throat, embarrassed to be caught in an act of kindness. "I said I'd TRY, Miss Baxter. I'm not guaranteeing the result. They haven't hired new in years now, but I've a thought that might work.  
"You know, I've caught myself thinking back to early days, recently, and it's made me realize that we can't take for granted the good times we're having, short staffed or no."  
"Now wait here."

And he left her with a smile. (Later returning to give her a larger one.)

\---

Other portions of the day didn't go as successfully.

"I need you to come up and see this," Mr. Bates had said ominously before pulling Barrow up to his lordship's rooms.  
"Well?" Barrow asked with no small exasperation when they'd finally made the climb. He was busy with an entire house.  
What was Bates on about now?

 

"As soon as I went in, I noticed it missing," Bates said quietly.  
Barrow's eyebrows drew together and he frowned. The word "missing" was never good.

"You'll have to be more specific than that, Mr. Bates," he tried to sound a light tone, but he could hear the edge. 

"The damn snuffbox, Thomas. The blue snuff box."

 

Thomas looked to the case and did, indeed, see the item in question missing.  
He'd not been actually inside the room for several days, but the maids had.  
And while Mrs. Hughes was in charge of the maids, he was in charge of them all. 

"It's not like I'd ever hide a snuff box, Mr. Bates," he said, trying for a bit of sarcastic humor.

 

"In the old days, I'd have you against the wall for that," Bates replied, squinting at the butler. Then he sighed. "Though there is a certain humor in the irony."  
"I know you didn't take it, Thomas, but the fact remains it's not there."

("Bloody hell," Thomas thought. "Aren't we two soft old codgers?")  
"We'll start here, do another search of the room, before we bother the staff," Barrow suggested, then smirked.  
"I DO worry about us, Bates, so amicable."

"Hmmm" Bates nodded his thanks, and the two men began to look in every logical location.

 

Then they began to look in every illogical one.  
And the box ended up being tucked behind his lordship's medals, in a box that usually went unopened.  
Bates chewed on his lip in exasperation when Thomas found it there. 

"Not me," he said.  
"Didn't suggest it," Barrow replied.

 

"He's been a bit low, you know. That could be all. Just grief and a bit of age."  
It came out automatically now, this small kindness, even to John Bates.  
Thomas went to put the box in its correct place in the case.  
He turned and caught the valet still frowning.

 

"The first time I had a friend die, you see, I was a bit of a wreck that way. Kept laying things down and picking them up without ever remembering why."  
"So what did you do to get over it?" Bates asked softly.  
"Oh, I was in the army that first time, and things just kept rolling along. I just made myself roll with them and if a few forms got lost, well, that's pretty much accepted anyway. Takes time."

 

"Two years?" asked Bates dubiously, thinking of Lord Grantham.  
"Dunno," Barrow said roughly, but still intent on soothing. "He's been in a mood about this 'party' scheme and he is getting older, but it might just be that. It's happened before."  
"Like after Lady Sybil's death," Bates agreed.  
"Yes, that time, too," Barrow said, thinking of both himself and Grantham.

 

Bates looked at the butler, giving his own smirk.  
"I'm almost of an age with his lordship," he noted wryly.  
"And you thinking of another baby? Disgusting," Thomas said mockingly as the two walked down together, side by side.

\---

At least it brightened them all when Lady Edith came to call, wanting to show her parents the galley of her book. 

Edith had forced herself out of Brancaster over and over these last two months.  
She'd gone to London and worked with her publisher and her editors.  
Her husband had called her strong, and he was right.  
(That was one positive from always having disaster hit--you knew how to pick yourself up after the disappointment fell.) 

 

"But look at this wonderful thing," and Lord Grantham leafed through the galley in amazement. "Why, my darling girl, you've quite outdone yourself this time."

"You might wait to read it first," Edith said, only half in jest. She'd used a few memories of her life to flesh out the fictional characters, and she was really on pins to see if she'd hidden them well enough.

 

"This very night," her father exclaimed enthusiastically and smiled.  
"I'm so proud to see this, Edith.  
"I tell myself to say it often, but I'm afraid it's not been often enough. You are my darling daughter and I'm proud of what you've done."

Lady Edith was overwhelmed.  
"Oh, papa, thank you," she managed, patting his arm.  
They smiled.

 

"And now we'll tell your mama you're here and have a 'roasting of the fatted calf.'"

"Andrew, do tell Mrs. Parker that Lady Edith's arrived."  
And the two Crawleys went off together to find Cora.


	52. Chapter 52

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-  
"We've multiple members of the peerage slated to come and this is what Daisy thinks to serve them? Totally unacceptable," Carson garumphed at his wife, flipping through sheets of menus. 

They were in their own sitting room, but it might as well have been the butler's office at Downton for all the paper.  


Carson had decided that his assistance would be needed at Lady Mary's summer fete.  
Guests would have to be carefully handled, both because they were of the nobiity and also because of the delicate situation--asking them if they'd like to join in the investment venture.  
"It wasn't that long ago that we served a twelve course meal to one lone duke, the finest to be had. This new business, so cost aware--where's the style?"

 

His wife frowned slightly and took a sip of tea. "But Charlie, think how small the staff is now, down to 20 from 60. And the outside staff for the tents--half left for the war and never came back."  
She shook her head sorrowfully. "Even if we had his lordship's approval, there aren't enough men. And you know what a time I had with those village girls on the last party."  
Here Mrs. Hughes threw up her hands in a gesture of defeat. 

 

"Well, we have enough notice, and this is more than just a party," Carson intoned.  
"It's an event. An event that must impress.  
"I'll have to go set Daisy and Mr. Barrow straight on that point, I see."  
And with that Mr. Carson went grumbling into their front parlor. 

"Heaven help us," Mrs. Hughes said under her breath. "He's a good man, and I love him, but he really must admit the world has moved on."

 

\---  
Lord Grantham was also having trouble with the modern world.  
Everywhere he turned was now talk, talk, talk of this so-called party.  
A grubby scheme, that, and he was ashamed for their name to be associated with it.

 

Mary had rearranged the time of it to early summer, rather than spring, so there would be two more months of hearing the chatter.  
Robert cringed at the thought.  
A party would be wonderful; they hadn't had one since the eclipse in '27.  
He and Cora had made do with small luncheons taken and given by a few steadfast friends.

 

But to make a party pay for itself?  
It was rather like opening the house for a hospital fundraiser. (At least that was charity.)  
Robert yearned for the days of his youth.

 

Lord Grantham had found himself going back to the past frequently in his mind.  
It helped soften the harsh edges.  
And he enjoyed walks with Tia, and times of just sitting in the smoking room alone and at ease.  
He kept his correspondence up for the most part, his supervision of projects, whatnot, but he found himself  
withdrawing a bit from the bustle of it all.

 

It really wasn't enjoyable, this being the oldest generation, the next for the grave.  
The man shivered and gave himself a mental shake.  
Perhaps he'd go down to London, stay at the club, and do some business with his peers.  
If he could avoid Harold, it would be fine.  
Just he and Bates, travelling alone with no fuss and many good stories to share.

"That's the solution," Lord Grantham nodded firmly. 

\---

Meanwhile, there was a bustle around the Moseley 'household,' if house you could call it at that point.  
The structure hadn't been properly used in years and had a leak in one corner, but everyone was helping to shingle and plaster and paint.  
(The Moseleys for all their quiet ways had become very popular people.)

 

"Bit of a cook and bottle washer position, this," Joseph Moseley said to Mr. Barrow as the group helped them clear the gatehouse behind him.

"Mr. Branson wouldn't agree to a governess, just a tutor, so Lady Mary is happy if Miss...Mrs. Moseley can give Miss Sybbie some extra grooming on the side," Barrow explained. "No French, just behavior and embroidery."  
"Then we'll use you at this party, but chalk the expense up to rent. And you can take the tutor's place on his half day.  
"There are no jobs so secure on the estate as the ones with the children and in the kitchen."

 

Phyllis nodded her encouragement. "Maybe you could do a little of the historian job, too, Joseph.  
You'd enjoy it anyway, and they didn't replace Mr. Patterson when he left.  
"His Lordship might find it agreeable, and it would fit around your teaching.  
"We'll earn our keep, which is a relief to be able."

 

Phyllis turned slightly and called out as Jimmy Kent walked by. "We appreciate you giving us your time off, Mr. Kent, but you really should take a breather. You look about to drop."  
"Doesn't bother me a whit," Jimmy replied, smiling at all three through a fringe of sweaty hair. "I've not the muscles I used to have, carrying loads up and down those stairs, but I can still lift."  
And he proved it by moving a bit of lumber (filched from the stables) on through.

"Unless we move faster, we'll not be done while six," Mr. Mason grumbled, following with his box of tools and Andy. (Who on the official schedule was helping with "the pigs.")

 

Thomas smirked. He wasn't sure if the term father in law applied to Mr. Mason as much as father.  
Neither was technically the case, but the old man had adopted Daisy and Andy sure enough.  
(What would that be like? He wondered.)

"I need to go back up to the big house and make sure everything's on course up there," Barrow said, hiding his regrets.  
He'd rather be down here.  
"It looks to turn out fine though," he said as he nodded to Phyllis.

 

"Of course it will, now that we're here," Edward Pipwick said, coming in with Samuelson and Miller.  
The men doffed their hats to Mrs. Moseley and smiled at Barrow as they passed.

 

Barrow snorted slightly.  
"And now I'd really best go, before they figure out that half the staff is here rather than where they should be." 

"Thank you, Thomas," Phyllis said quietly as she walked him out. "It means a lot to me, you know. And I'll be up in time to dress her ladyship."  
He nodded once, then went on to duties.


	53. Chapter 53

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It had been a bad idea to begin with, and worse with what happened.

 

They'd gathered up at the pub that night, work done.  
Simple enough.  
Thomas had received permission to do so, and Branson had looked on with such longing that he'd almost asked him to come--ridiculous to think, that, so he stayed across the divide.  
All on the up and up. 

 

And now they were there and Thomas wished he'd never asked to begin with, his mind totally fixed on a letter he'd received in the late mail.  
A letter he'd chucked in his desk unopened.

 

Some days recently, Barrow could actually enjoy life a bit.  
He'd sit like a potentate with tea and a ginger biscuit (bless Daisy), ably handling the paperwork and authorizing the bills.  
He'd stride down the hall past Mrs. Hughes or Anna (or usually Mrs. Moseley), who'd give him a soft smile, like part of some unspoken compact.  
Even patted his arm on occasion if it didn't seem too bold.

 

The children, now beyond the age of 'horsey,' still swarmed when they saw him.  
And Barrow tried to visit their hall at least an hour each day to examine their latest bits and bobs and hear all the stories.  
And it had amused him to notice some of his expressions coming out of Master George, and even Miss Sybbie.

Of course, sometimes he still succumbed to doubts, but overall, Thomas Barrow had begun to feel he could relax and be content.  
He'd finally found respect.

 

Then he saw the return address on the envelope was Manchester, and he'd dropped it like it burned his fingers--literally threw it into the drawer and slammed it shut.  
So Thomas was not in the mood to roister that night.

\---

The others, of course, knew nothing of this and took it for the usual 'moody Mr. Barrow' that had been his character for so many years, Lord help them.  
Except for Joe.  
Joe sensed something off and kept shooting him worried glances.  
Andy, too, thought Thomas looked wound up, but put it down to planning the party. (Had Carson perhaps been on hand again to lecture?)

 

Unfortunately, anger and alcohol had never been Barrow's best mix.  
Nor Jimmy's either.

 

Kent seemed to have a kind of nervous energy about him, though he had to be worn through from all the labor of the day.  
He was an expert at breaking 'decorum,' and he kept the others in stitches with proposals of absurd activities they ("dozy buggers one and all") could do after the pub.  
Thomas missed this cheekiness from Jimmy, but also knew that if he met this version of Jimmy now, rather than all those years ago, he'd be too tired to play with him. 

 

Fortunately, thought Thomas, Jimmy was no longer like this anymore....except tonight when he was. 

So even though Thomas felt incredibly old, for one night he let himself be swept along.

 

Andy tried to keep them in check, suggesting that they might not want to do anything resulting in a visit from the constable.  
Which got Jimmy and Thomas into a discussion of how many of the big house staff had met the constable--some at a serious level.  
"Do you think any other staff can boast that?" Jimmy laughed. "Even Andy knows him by name, and he's quite the innocent. Other houses have probably never even seen the man in person."  
Somehow this struck both men as absolutely hilarious, probably because of the pints downed during the discussion. 

 

Joe was glowering at them.  
"Andy's right. We can't do anything to get fired tonight, no matter how much fun devilment is," Miller said, being promptly hooted down by Samuelson who was quite 'three sheets to the wind.' (Can you be 'four'?)  
"Can always make money," suggested Jimmy, who had, in truth never had trouble finding a job, just in keeping the cash from gambling and drink and frivolous pursuits.

 

"Can't ever relax," complained Thomas, glaring them all. "Not even at our stage of life. Ridiculous to ever relax."

"You can relax," countered Joe, misunderstanding his meaning and thinking he meant that night. "You just can't go for childish destructiveness."

"Childish?" Jimmy asked, picking up on the one word sure to set him off. "I am so. bloody. tired. of people looking at my face and thinking I'm some child."  
"So tired of people looking at my face and thinking anything."

 

Joe smirked. He knew the other man had made a living off of his looks and boyish charm.  
Silly to complain you didn't enjoy being objectified if you'd used it for gain. 

Thomas looked at Joe square in the eye, or as square as he could with one lank bit of hair falling over his face.  
Quietly he said, "every time you smile at me, you're promising felony. Don't act like you're so law abiding compared to the rest of us."

"Don't be Father Time. We need to have SOME fun before we die."

 

Things got a little disorderly after that.

\---

 

"Mr. Pipwick must be cold without any clothes on," Andy thought randomly as he opened his eyes and spied the rotund man.

Followed by "I wonder if it's because he's ancient he has hair on his arse."

Followed by "what?!"

 

Andy Parker sat up rather bleerily in an unfamiliar field.  
Thank God he was still clothed.  
The young man tried to collect his thoughts and keep his teeth from hurting quite so much.  
Vaguely he remembered that they'd switched to hard alcohol at some point, and it had hit him like a fist. 

 

Joe Miller was near him, eyes closed and breathing softly.  
Like Andy, Joe was clothed.  
And his eyes opened easily with the younger man's noise, indicating that he, at least, was not too far gone.

 

"Wipe the scared look off your face, Andy," he said. "We just ended up swimming....though there was a bit of a fire and some very ribald songs sung beforehand...bit of dancing (if you'd call it that.)"  
"You didn't seem to be in a condition Daisy would appreciate, so we camped out here to rest our eyes."  
Andy touched his head. His hair hurt. 

 

He could see plain as day, thanks to the full moon out, but he closed his eyes not much caring to.  
"How much did I drink?" he asked weakly.  
"Not much, laddo. Really not that very much," and Joe chuckled richly in the night.

 

"We've still got to get everyone home when you're ready. In spite of what was said, I'm very protective of my job.  
"But rest a few more, and we'll give it another try."  
Andy mumbled a yes and pried his eyes open, getting his bearings.  
Leaned against a tree, he did indeed rest a bit before daring to try to rise. 

 

Thankfully ONLY Old Pip was unclothed, though the rest looked rather shabby for their efforts.  
For such a short man, Jimmy Kent had a snore unlike any Andy'd ever heard. A train engine, that.

Barrow and Samuelson seemed half awake, half asleep. 

And Branson was slumped next to them.  
Again, Andy did a double take.  
Mr. Branson? When had he joined in?

 

"If you're ready, we'd best start out. With you back awake, we'll be able to heft Tom between us. Thomas and Sam are unsteady, but can manage."  
Joe wearily stood.  
"Jimmy? Pip?" Andy asked. 

 

"Jimmy's just sleeping," Thomas said from the shadows.  
And he began to poke his friend awake. 

 

"I think we might have to cover Old Pip and fetch him come morning," Joe said in no small amusement. "He's slept out before, and I'm not about to take a handful of that through the fields at night."  
"I'd say we're too old for such nonsense, but he was quite heading the charge and at twice my years."  
The chuckle rumbled again.

"God am I tired. Let's get our tiddly selves home, right?  
"And Andy....'no names, no pack drill,' got it?"

 

As the not-so-merry band ventured onward, Joe wondered, once again, what had Thomas so upset that he'd felt the need to hit the bottle quite so hard.  
The others, yes.  
But it was not a side of Thomas that had come out for a long, long time.


	54. Chapter 54

(Note: Evelyn Napier has inherited the title at this point.)  
-  
-  
The thing to do was just lock it away and ignore it, ignore it like they'd ignored him for nigh on to twenty years.

The hallboy's knock at his door got Thomas to his feet and dressing, his usually accurate sense of time gone bad, the clocks in his room not ticking for neglect of winding the day before.  
(The silence was painful.)  
He had to lock it away and get back to his life.  
His good life, damn it.

 

They were having guests for luncheon today: the Viscount Branksome, the Mertons, Lord Flintshire, and Lady Rosamund.  
Mr. Barrow needed to be in control.  
He needed Andrew to be in control.  
He was the butler of Downton Abbey, not some hobbledehoy.  
(Damn it all to hell.)

\---

"You're mistaking a wish for a certainty," Rosamund said with a sour expression, looking down the table at her brother.  
This was the first she'd heard of the mad scheme of an 'investment luncheon' and she was intent on squelching it.  
"Robert, how could you conceive of such a thing?"

 

And though he had very strong opinions against it himself, Lord Grantham couldn't let his sister's goading go unanswered.  
"Rosamund, it's not like you're unfamiliar with commerce. Marmaduke didn't always have the polish you finally gave him, and we all know it."  
Robert smiled benignly as his sister's eyes flashed. "If you don't want to help the family, of course you don't have to help the family."

"I think Lady Mary's got it well in hand," offered the Viscount Branksome.  
Evelyn smiled in Mary's direction. "It will be a delicate balance of what's right socially, but if anyone can do it, I'm sure she can."

 

"And it isn't just a wish," added Henry. "We know that the investment's sound. Whatever support we get will help...and we're sure to get something."

"Oh good, let's make everything about money," drawled Rosamund, looking for all the world like her mother.

 

"No, it's not quite about money. It's about banding together to keep England on even ground," Lord Merton suggested lightly, trying to stay on even ground himself.  
"Cora and I have found some deplorable poverty in the lower classes," commented his wife. "If we put our own houses in order, how can we ever provide help for them?"

 

"We really just thought that you all might have suggestions on the guest list," Lady Grantham said. "We really don't want to include anyone that might be made uncomfortable."  
They paused as the next course came round, silver and china softly clattering, compliments softly given.  
Even an animated discussion didn't stand up to Mrs. Parker's entree.

 

"I've a few friends through the diplomatic that might have good contacts," suggested Lord Flintshire a few moments later. "If you wanted to think overseas."  
"I don't know, Shrimpy, we've not had much luck with foreigners at Downton," Robert said, not really thinking of the implications.  
From the end of the table, Evelyn and Mary both stifled coughs.  
"That's one way to put it," he said for her ears alone.

 

"I really wouldn't mind pulling some of Richard Carlisle's backers away from him if we could," Mary said, with a vindictive raise of an eyebrow.  
At the mention of the man's name, Robert looked sour.  
"Are there people of good breeding helping his rags?" Lord Grantham questioned.  
Lady Mary smiled. "You forget, papa, we were almost in that position."  
"Thank heavens we aren't," her father muttered and turned.

 

"Still it would make me feel we've made a point if we could do something in that direction," noted Tom Branson, tossing Mary an approving look.  
"He was truly awful to the family recently," he added for the benefit of Evelyn and Isobel.  
Everyone nodded in agreement; the press had lost their sense of respect a while back and it had only gotten worse.

 

"I've a few military chums to include, I suppose," Lord Grantham conceded. "I don't know if you can pick their pockets.... I rather hope not. But I'd like to see them at any rate."  
"Between us, we've connections to all the better families," Dickie Merton added. "It's just to cull down the list, as Lady Grantham suggested. Pick the ones we think wouldn't feel ill used or put on the spot if they can't put in."

 

"I'll even wear a tiara, if I must," joked Isobel, who hated to play the grand lady, but was quite willing to if necessary for a cause.

"Mama would have been appalled at us," Rosamund said, shaking her head.  
"While she might have felt that way, your mother would have looked reality square in the face and steamrolled it," Isobel retorted.

"Let's go through, shall we?" suggested Cora smoothly.

\---

In the background, Cora and Isobel were exchanging names. ("Lord and Countess of Woolton, perhaps?" "Sir Henry and Lady Lawson, certainly.")

Behind Cora's musical voice, Mary's could be heard, regaling the younger men with some story of London. ("We were most astonished to see her do that...")

Dickie had naturally migrated to a large corner chair, sinking gratefully down.  
The fire burned bright and the room was comfortably inviting.

 

Unfortunately for Robert, Lady Rosamund had her brother pinned very uncomfortably in the corner.  
"You of all people should know to keep family from being a topic of conversation," she sputtered quietly.  
"No, you of all people know that, since you started us down that path back when we were young. I'm the one who got us back." Robert really didn't like Rosamund most of the time, and he frequently let her know it. 

"Mary? Edith? And I'm sure you aren't as innocent as you try to appear, dear brother, though lord help you, you might be that boring." Rosamund hissed at him. "You don't want people ever looking at us too askance, because once they start looking, they might find what's under the rug."  
Nostrils flared in anger, she whirled and made her way off. 

 

"Do I dare ask what that was?" Talbot said, coming over to the older man.  
"Sisters." Robert said, as though that explained everything.

 

"I rather admire Lord Flintshire," Evelyn drawled to Tom, who was not in the mood to listen.  
"Yes, a good man," Branson said shortly.  
"Holding his head up and doing quite well," prompted Evelyn.  
"Of course," Branson said, not sure what the recently minted Viscount was fishing for, but not wanting to participate.  
Mary smiled up at them both and they both smiled back, this time Tom taking up the challenge of telling a 'story.'

 

Mr. Barrow and Andrew circulated quietly, servant's blank in place, everything exactly right.  
A slight smirk might have been directed at Branson, but nothing more from either.

At Downton it was decorum always,  
at least on the surface.


	55. Chapter 55

-  
-  
For the next few weeks, the staff was running full steam preparing for the 'grand event.'  
"I hope this settles whatever they're afraid of," Andy commented in passing to Thomas. "But I think they may just be chasing ghosts."  
"Well, whichever, let's hope they keep the haunts off our door," the butler snapped back rather brusquely.

He reached to straighten one of the tapers and plucked a dead blossom from a nearby arrangement.

 

"Here, watch that will you?" Barrow corrected, keeping Andy from knocking against the table he was laying.  
"Sorry, Mr. Barrow," the younger man said, smiling still.  
Thomas nodded, took a breath, and said, "S'alright, Andy. I'll be back by the time you're done."  
And the butler went down the stairs to his own personal torture room.

 

Mr. Carson had termed the planning the "chaos of gomorrah" when he'd come by, which meant they'd be gifted with his presence for many hours on end.  
He was as imperious as ever, the old man, Thomas thought.  
The wobble was continuous now, but he clasped his hand behind his back and stalked the ground floor like a martinet.  
"Shite," muttered Thomas. "That tone and those eyebrows still make me feel like an errant child."

And for a moment, Thomas thought of his father.  
("I don't have a problem. YOU have the problem," Thomas had yelled just before he'd left for good, blood on his face.)

 

Mr. Barrow looked up to see that the older butler had come up to face him.  
A bead of perspiration on his forehead ruined his otherwise impeccable appearance.  
"Really, Mr. Barrow, I expect better things from you these days," Carson began.  
And Thomas, of course, took the criticism rather than the compliment from the statement.  
(It had been so pleasant recently when he'd just left him be.)

 

There was a crash and a bang from the kitchen and a pithy comment from Daisy.  
"I'll just see what the matter is," Thomas said, excusing himself with relief.  
Mr. Carson huffed.

 

A gaggle of giggling maids came down the hallway, brushing past the old butler, frankly paying him little mind.  
The man scowled, deeply slighted.  
Mrs. Hughes--coming behind the girls--stopped to calm him down.

"Now Mr. Carson, I told you what trouble the new people are. We're doing the best that can be done.  
"We spent all morning cleaning the big chandelier, what used to take two days. And you should be proud of Mr. Barrow. I heard him cutting into the temporary footman about bouillon spoons in a manner that would do you justice."

 

"Any footman would know his silver, Mrs. Hughes. You don't have to build the man up," Carson replied.  
"Well this daft infant didn't by the sound of things, and I seem to remember that you gave more than one lecture to newcomers back in days past."  
She smiled slightly and patted his arm, wearily continuing on to find her girls.

 

Mr. Carson stomped to the butler's office and took back his original seat without a second thought.  
Not even a decanter of wine to be found, he sighed, needing a bit of something to soothe his irritation.

This was important to Lady Mary. She'd said so.  
That made it doubly important to Carson.  
Yet it felt like things were slipping further and further beyond his control.

\---

 

"Are you caught up, you think?" Daisy asked her husband, getting him a cool drink when he'd finally come by.  
Andy shook his head no. "We've all been on the run, up and down stairs," the young man said. "It's bedlam."

"Sh!" warned Daisy. "Mr. Carson's 'round, too."  
Andy lowered his voice and said in conspiracy, "So I've heard."  
He waggled his eyebrows meaningfully and made his wife laugh. 

"Mr. Barrow came back up looking like he'd been chewed on, then passed it along to that new lad, Billy. Not that he didn't earn it." They both chuckled.  
(William was more clumsy than a new born colt. But eager, very eager.)

 

Daisy realized then that she had been somewhat hard on Andy that day.  
In her aggravation, she'd had a harsh edge in her voice, but she hadn't been able to keep her frustrations from bubbling out.  
While not as worried as she had been before learning this elaborate event was a money maker, she still felt pressure every day.  
She'd seen enough headlines to know they weren't too many weeks from the soup kitchens in England if things went south.

Andy came to encircle her in his arms, and she leaned back briefly.  
"You must take care of yourself, Daisy girl," he said. "You're running ragged."  
And he gave her a slight squeeze and kiss on the cheek. 

 

There were sometimes that Daisy imagined how much simpler life would have been if she'd remained single.  
But there were others, like now, when she was really very pleased she'd been married.  
"Get on with you then, you daft kipper," she admonished, shooing him away.  
But not before she smiled.

\---

Rushing with a dress that needed mending, Anna came out of Lady Mary's room just in time to see a small figure ducking into his lordship's.  
"That's odd," she thought. "His lordship's downstairs and Miss Sybbie should be at her books."  
Anna moved down the hall and knocked once before going in, just in case.  
"And who have we here?" she asked the young girl cheerfully.

 

"I'm sorry, Anna. I just had to put back something Donk loaned me," Sybbie explained.  
"We've been playing, George and I. Mainly Georgie, but he doesn't like to clear up, so I did it this time.  
"Nanny said you always return things where you borrow."

Anna laughed. "Do you need any help?"  
Sybbie nodded no, then asked her if she knew where Donk was right then.  
"The library, I think, Miss Sybbie, but shouldn't you report back to your tutor?" Anna suggested.  
"Mmmm. I suppose," Sybbie allowed, but when she left the room, Anna noticed her ducking down the front stairs. 

"Children," Anna chuckled and continued down the hall on to her next bit of work, hand lightly on her barely thickened belly.

\---

Sybbie slipped into the library and was almost upon him before Lord Grantham became aware.  
He smiled as soon as he saw the beautiful child. (How like her mother at that age!)

"Donk, Georgie and I are done with the boxes, but I had another question."  
Sybbie leaned on one foot as she looked up at where her grandfather sat.  
She chewed her lip and considered how many years old he was and why he always liked to read those really big histories, when anyone knew that the geographies were more interesting.

 

"Yes, dear one, what is it?" Robert set everything aside and focused completely in.  
Of the grandchildren, Sybbie had the most independent streak--probably not surprising--and she also questioned everything. 

"Well, Georgie was saying he'd get your title and the house when he grew up, and I wondered why, since I'm oldest."

 

"Ah, well, that may take some time to explain. You'd best take a seat," Robert replied, and patted the spot next to him.  
Just what he needed. A feminist, just like her mother.  
Sybbie's grandfather smiled fondly at the wonderful little girl.


	56. Chapter 56

(Note: Warning for character death, but mentioned/not graphic.)  
  
  
  
-  
-  
-  
A wiry young man stood outside the back door that early summer morning, turning his cap in his hands.  
It was a pleasant enough day, with blue skies and a slight breeze, but the boy seemed unaware.  
  
He shifted anxiously from foot to foot as Mrs. Hughes approached.  
"The footman said you had a message for Mr. Barrow. He's not available right now. We've a bit of a scramble going on.  
"I'm Mrs. Hughes the housekeeper. You'll have to make do with me."

 

"Can't do it, missus," the boy replied. "It's too important or me mother wouldn't've sent me direct. It's a family matter and one or both would have my skin telling it to a stranger."

"Family?" Mrs. Hughes' eyes widened slightly as she re-evaluated the boy.  
He was not the same build as Thomas, but the coloring was the same. The eyes and nose, perhaps, but with a different mouth. (Or perhaps it was just that this one seemed to have a near constant smile at the corners?)

 

There was an awkward pause as the boy considered his answer.  
"I'm Daniel, Missus. I'm his sister Margaret's boy. She said I had to get here and give him the message myself."

 

"Well then," Mrs. Hughes smiled. "I suppose you can go in my sitting room, Daniel, until we shake Mr. Barrow free. I'll have a tray sent in from the kitchen if you're hungry."  
The boy smiled and nodded.  
(Was there ever a growing boy not hungry, Mrs. Hughes thought, amused.)

\----

Aware there was about to be an event of some type, Elsie stopped by the butler's office, where her husband was finalizing things for next week's party.  
The party was finally about to occur...and anything might tip them over the edge from the stress.  
Certainly bad family news might be a tipping point.  
Charlie needed to be warned. 

Then Mrs. Hughes walked on down the hall, calling in an order to Mrs. Parker for a tray, and asking for the location of Mr. Barrow.  
(Upstairs, third floor.)  
The housekeeper's keys jingled as she made her way up, hoping that it wasn't a disaster she was about to witness.

\---

Mr. Barrow, for a rarity, had no words--no stalwart head butler comment, no snarky footman comeback.  
Mrs. Hughes took in the stunned expression and continued. "I've put him in my sitting room, since Mr. Carson was in your office. And he has some food to get him by."

"I should finish here," Thomas began, vaguely waving toward a job now forgotten. 

 

"No, you should go down there. Some tea for yourself wouldn't go amiss either. Come now, Thomas," and she took the butler's arm as easily as she would a young lad's and turned him toward the door.  
"Whatever it is, it's better faced square."

\---

The first thing Thomas saw as he entered the room was Daisy, sitting close by.  
And he knew with deep gratitude that whatever the bad news, he'd not have to face it alone.

The boy, Daniel, tipped his chin up and his grey eyes narrowed slightly under what he saw as Barrow's unfriendly silence.  
No greeting at all? Well, that was probably to be expected.  
He thrust the note forward, mission accomplished.

 

Andy, walking by, stopped and peered in.  
"Need help? Do we have a new boy?"  
Mrs. Hughes shooed him back, saying, "We'd best leave Mr. Barrow alone with his guest."

"Alone," Daisy answered, "But I'd best stay. Isn't that all right, Thomas? It'll save having to pry it out of you later, anyways."  
And a rather overwrought Thomas gave a half bark of a laugh and nodded.  
So only Mrs. Hughes and Andy withdrew.

 

He looked at the boy more fully, and a smile skittered across his face before he quickly tucked it and any emotion away.  
God, what a shaggy mop of black hair.  
"So they picked you as messenger after all these years?"  
Thomas tried to keep a slight bitterness from his voice. 

 

"Mam and granny know by way of India how you've been doing in Yorkshire," the boy replied. "And it's not like you wrote them."  
The last was a hard bitten comment in defense of his mother.  
Danny knew how awful they'd had it, living with the old man all these years.  
He himself had the marks to prove it. 

 

"So?" Barrow prompted, with a corner of his sadness melting.  
(They hadn't forgotten me. They'd asked to find out from Archie and Aunt Liz.)

"The note's in your hand," Daniel answered.

 

Quite unexpectedly, Daisy started giggling softly in the corner, though she clapped her hand over her mouth.  
Two sets of blue-grey eyes turned on her in disapproval, but that only made her slip and giggle more. 

"You've the same exact irritated tone of voice, you two. It's like young-Thomas before the war and our-Thomas after.  
"Sorry. Oh, I'm really most sorry I am, but you have to....I have to...." And she clapped her hand more firmly in place. 

 

Fortunately, Daniel had never learned that emotions needed hiding behind a servant's blank stare. His face softened and he relaxed and grinned back at the older woman's teasing.

And fortunately, Thomas had a soft spot for Daisy and could see the source of her amusement.  
(And I have a nephew. A nephew who looks like me and has my middle name for his own.)

 

"Hmmm...." was all Mr. Barrow said, smirking, and he turned his eyes away to read the note.  
It wasn't pleasant.  
Thomas felt his eyes well up briefly, but clamped down hard on all that and struggled to the end of it.  
"It says he didn't suffer?"

"Less than most. And mam and granny were there with him the whole time. He asked for you, but you wouldn't have made it there anyway, granny said," Daniel took a breath.  
"They wanted to make sure you'd know."  
"Oh," Daisy gasped quietly from the corner.  
For a few moments, all that could be heard was their breathing and the ticking of the clocks.

 

A knock on the door made them jump.  
And Mr. Carson entered a bit slowly, having estimated that such an interruption at this point might prove in the best interests of all.  
He was pleasantly surprised to not find the scene he'd feared.  
"Mrs. Hughes told me we have a visitor from your family, Mr. Barrow." 

 

Laying his left hand on Thomas's shoulder, Carson reached a shaky right hand forward to Daniel.  
"Nice to meet you, young man. Since we're Mr. Barrow's family at Downton, I suppose that makes you one of us."  
Thomas made a slight hitching sound with his breath which Carson quite ignored. 

"We have a bit of a full house of staff, for once, but I'll ask Andy to put a bed in Mr. Barrow's room if that's acceptable?"  
Here Carson looked to Thomas for direction.

"Or he can stay with us at the farm?" Daisy offered gently. "It's a bit noisy, but there's always room in the corners."

 

"My father. He's passed," was all Barrow managed.  
Carson tightened his grip. "I'm so very sorry to hear that, Thomas. Very sorry, indeed."  
"Perhaps he should share with Billy to give you some privacy then?"  
Carson again waited on Thomas's reply.

 

"No," said Barrow, taking a deep breath. "No. I suppose we've bound to get to know one another and it may as well be now, right?"  
And he looked at the boy, who nodded back tentatively.  
Daisy smiled and gave Danny a pat. "Now it might be safe to leave you alone, just for a bit. But I'll be back."

 

"And Thomas, you know I'm sorry, too, 'cause even though your father was like mine, it's still not an easy thing."

And in front of a very amazed Carson, Daisy risked a small peck on his cheek as she passed by Mr. Barrow.  
With a firm nod of her head, she exited in front of the old butler leaving him to follow her out.

\----

Of course the news spread quickly.  
And all of the staff were sorry to hear of Mr. Barrow's loss, though only a few knew how complicated that loss was for their very complex butler to bear.

 

Mrs. Moseley waited until she could spy the two coming out before she pushed in on the moment.  
Barrow introduced her to Daniel gravely, mentioning that she was a friend of his mother's in childhood.  
And the boy looked a bit dazed by her as well as the rest, for he hadn't expected to face such a large group of people.

 

"We're all so very glad to see you, Danny, though it's a sad mission you're on. I'll let your uncle direct you now, but remember that if you need anything at all, you can trust to come to me."  
Phyllis smiled softly at the boy, then up at Thomas before making her way off.

"You've a lot of friends here," the boy said, rather overwhelmed.  
"Yes," said Thomas with an effort. "I suppose I do."


	57. Chapter 57

-  
-  
Even though Danny seemed a quiet and smart lad, Barrow had a trying few days of it.  
He thought more than once that Carson had been right to ask if he needed to have his room alone.  
Because from some ancient place within him, Thomas could feel rage bubbling up, rage at his father who'd now never admit to his wrongs. (Even at his mother for not protecting him better.) 

 

And then he'd feel guilt, because how do you get angry at a dead man, especially when he was your own father?  
He'd had a hard life of it himself, Thomas knew.  
But the guilt was only the bass line in what was playing in Barrow's head.  
Mostly there was rage, thinly controlled rage.

 

Thomas finally agreed to take a break, just to avoid pointing his emotions at Danny--who'd undoubtedly already seen such punishing anger directly from the old man's cane.

 

"They've had the funeral, so there's no rush to visit home. And we've got so much on the line here, I'm rather relieved," Thomas said to Joe as they walked through the woods.

 

It was cool and quiet amid the trees, and the path they walked on was uneven enough to keep Thomas's mind on his feet.  
Not usually a fan of nature, he had to admit that the bird calls were a lot more soothing than the noises currently echoing through the big house.  
And the sunshine warmed him slightly, making him feel less numb.

 

The shock of it all had made him weak--as though he was doing his tasks through a gossamer veil.  
And Barrow hated weakness.  
Barrow hated to take even this hour to talk, much less the thought of time going home.  
But he had to do both, he supposed.  
"There was certainly no love lost, so I'm angry, but somehow I'm sad all the same...maybe sad for Danny or Mags or mum. Though I know he was hard to live with for them, too."

 

Thomas kicked at the brush where they'd stopped.  
Kicked it away from him. Kicked it until it broke.  
Then he sighed.

Miller just stood, patiently waiting for him to catch his breath.  
"Confusing, then? But you feel whatever you feel.  
and it's all perfectly right."

 

Joe's voice was low and soothing.  
He'd lost his own parents years ago, but the memory still hurt.  
He couldn't imagine how hard it was to love someone you also feared, to mourn someone you somewhat hated.

 

"Danny's stayed until after this party, then maybe I'll take the time," Thomas said.  
This time he'd left the word 'home' unspoken.

"Well it's good you CAN go back where you grew up and maybe see your mum.  
"But just remember Thomas, you don't have to go now. Whatever you need to do is perfectly fine. As you said, there's no rush."

 

The gamekeeper leaned over and wrapped an arm around Barrow.  
"Eventually it'll all turn out right. Just breathe easy."  
And finally Thomas allowed himself to completely break over and cry.

\---

Back at the Abbey, the gears of the big house were turning smoothly, though there was somewhat of a distraction among the young women downstairs.  
Mr. Barrow's nephew Danny did look a great deal like him, before life had boxed Barrow about the ears.  
And he now looked even more like his uncle, for he'd had some lessons in grooming from the fastidious elder man. (You don't get to be butler without having standards.)

 

Suddenly all the house and kitchen maids felt lucky they'd been "taken on" for the summer, and worked double quick in hopes of getting a peek at the boy as they went about their day.  
He might be grieving, but he was handsome.  
And what inspired a maid's mind more than the thought of comforting a sad and beautiful male?

 

Danny, of course, was unaware of becoming a curiosity.  
He tended to stick to those with whom he'd had first contact--Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Parker.  
The boy didn't trust new people much, but both of these women seemed to have only good intentions toward him.  
Plus, there was food in the kitchen, and Danny was amazed by the quantity of it.

 

"Pfft. Like Thomas, you are, stop with the stealing. I'll put you whatever you want to the side. Don't use your fingers on it!" And Daisy half laughed and nudged the boy away from the upstairs food.  
Unfortunately for her lesson, Andy came by and stole a bit, too.  
"Now I know how to get you to mind," she scolded, though still with a dimple betraying her lack of venom.

 

"Do you really? Cause they don't seem to showing any 'mind' at all," came a more authoritative scold from the doorway.  
Mrs. Patmore entered, tying her apron as she came.  
The older lady was there to help with the end of the party nibbles, and with her entry the kitchen maids seemed to stop, startled.  
Most had been too recently added to have come across Patmore before.  
But they already guessed they'd mind, indeed they would.

 

Mr. Carson came behind her and nodded his approval as Andrew picked up the morning trays of food to set out for upstairs breakfast.  
"The upstairs serves themselves breakfast, Daniel. But it still has to go up, which is what we're doing now. You had yours before, right?"  
Carson, himself, had come after the servants ate that day, knowing they'd be long into the night.

 

As the boy nodded, embarrassed, the old man softened his look.  
"Well, Mrs. Parker always has extra for visitors, but do take it to the servants hall where you'll not be underfoot."  
(He'd do better with this Barrow, Carson thought.)  
"Right then, I'm going up, too."

"Daisy, get the kettle on," Mrs. Patmore ordered.  
And without thought, Mrs. Parker replied "yes, Mrs. Patmore" just as she'd done a thousand times before.

\---

Danny went down the hall to explore. It was busy as a bee hive.  
He'd never get to be inside such a place again, he was sure.  
And his uncle worked here!

No wonder he'd chosen to run away. To live in a place so grand was a wonder.  
(Why what dropped off their table would feed the family a year.)  
They'd clung to Gramps as their sole means of support, but what was the world without risk.  
And this place had so many rewards.

\---

  


"Are we still right, then?" Mr. Barrow asked Mrs. Hughes as he entered the hallway.  
He'd been gone less than the time she'd forced on him, but at least he'd taken a bit of a break.  
"Yes, we're 'right', no missteps at all, Mr. Barrow. Honestly, butlers are the most worried creatures," and the older woman fell into his wake, handing over an inventory.

 

"Now I haven't shown those to Mr. Carson yet, so he'll want to see them too. We've got everything done and ready as far as we can.  
"Lady Rose and her husband will be here shortly, and her father is pacing the gallery, poor man. Mr. Carson has a hall boy playing lookout.  
"We won't have nearly the guests sleeping over as two years ago. Just family and a few couples.  
"The rest should come in their own time tonight and leave by dawn at the latest."

 

Mr. Barrow nodded, taking the sheets.  
He'd had Andy managing the footmen they'd taken on for the month, making sure they'd done as he'd instructed.  
And Barrow had been very rigorous in his 'instructions,' going over every detail he could think of himself with the lot of them.  
It made him feel ancient, this task of training footmen. He could see the faces of himself, Jimmy, and William in the younger men. (Even Alfred, though Barrow had made sure not to saddle himself with any awkward looking giants, no matter how well intentioned.) 

 

He'd once had it said to him that the staff allowed to serve upstairs must be absolutely part of the furnishings, never reacting visibly to what was said or done, but always on hand to serve.  
More so, however, he'd heard that the male servants must be undeniably tall and good looking as a matter of pride for the house.

And he tried to impart that dual role of decorum and pride in his temporary staff, though he knew it really was something that took years to ingrain in a man.

\---

Mr. Barrow strode through the upstairs, noting every arrangement, every bit of furniture, every feature.  
The great hall echoed slightly with the carpet rolled up, yet empty of people.  
Thomas checked the side the guests would see, but he checked beyond the baize door, too.  
Checked the servery to see that every conceivable item they could need was on hand.

A temporary staff wouldn't have the skill of a regular one, to cover if things went amiss.  
Better to try for no mistakes. (Always the goal, anyway.)

 

The butler took a steadying breath.  
He needed to go down and coordinate with Mr. Carson, check to see that Mrs. Patmore hadn't killed anyone upon her return, maybe check on Danny.

Another deep breath.  
Thomas Barrow had made a lot of mistakes in his life, but he'd always prided himself on a job professionally done, no matter what.  
(In his mind he felt Mr. Carson's hand on his shoulder, calling them family. And relaxed.)

They were Downton Abbey.  
And tonight would be impressive.


	58. Chapter 58

-  
-  
-  
They'd dimmed most of the electric lights and used candles for softness.  
The women in their diamonds seemed to glitter as they walked into the great hall.   
Of course, they were tasteful in their displays of opulence, but opulence it was. 

"This is more like," Lord Grantham nodded, standing next to Carson.  
Grantham realized that once again briefly they had recreated that magic lost world of before the war.   
He made himself go forward daily, but he'd never really recovered from its loss, the earl realized. 

 

"Seeing Downton alive like this is as close to happily ever after as we're going to get in this rough old world of ours," he beamed at the old butler.   
"Good job, Carson. Truly magnificent job."

"Thank you, my lord," Carson rumbled.

\---

Both Henry Talbot and Tom Branson were circulating together.  
They were being quite discreet in their approach, making sure that people who expressed an interest in their comments on the industry got more information, dropping the topic to those who didn't. 

Both Talbot and Branson knew they were offering an opportunity that should sell itself.  
Besides, the women of the house would have their heads if they caused an uproar.

\---  
As arrivals were announced from the door, Lady Grantham was pleased to note that nearly everyone they'd asked had decided to come and come with smiles on.   
Cora wasn't much to gossip these days, but she was looking forward to catching up on news with some old friends.   
She'd been young once, had courted the county with her visits.   
And even if some of those families now resided solely in London, she still remembered fondly how she'd become part of their set back then.

\---  
As they mingled before dinner, Edith and Bertie made the rounds, too.   
After years of thinking herself 'small,' Lady Edith had become an extraordinary woman.   
Perhaps it was forged from sorrow, more likely it was Bertie's love, but Edith now carried herself with absolute confidence.  
She'd even laughed when Lady Lawson complimented her on "finally gaining some weight, like saplings in the wind you girls these days." 

She wasn't sure if the woman meant it as a compliment in truth or a dig in disguise, but frankly Edith no longer cared.  
"You, too. Aren't we both looking fine and fit," she'd said, waving to someone over the old girl's shoulder and making to leave. 

\---  
Meanwhile, Lady Mary's forte had always been talking to the men of the gathering.   
She was now quite adept at sparkling while explaining that, yes, she did enjoy managing the estate, and, no, she really wouldn't rather go back no matter how full the days.  
Fortunately for Mary she had a way of looking absolutely feminine while tackling the male mindset which let them accept her as the exception to their rules.

"It's lovely to see you looking so...lovely," Evelyn Napier said, coming up to her smiling.  
She laughed. "You say that every time, Evelyn," she returned, frankly grinning up at him.  
It was odd to think how long they'd been friends, and how comfortable she felt.  
"But thank you, none the less. A girl likes to hear it."

 

From across the room, Henry Talbot paused in his business with Tom to watch Mary with her old beau.  
And Henry was not very happy at what he was seeing, though he trusted it was nothing beyond the limits of propriety.   
Still, he was not very happy at all.

\---  
The company went into dinner right on cue.   
Standing briefly to the back with Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson, Mr. Barrow signaled discreetly to a temporary footman as he tried to dash past, terror in his eyes.   
"Steady on, just get in place. It's better to be late with grace than on time looking foolish," Barrow chastised the boy under his breath. 

Carson nodded.

"I can remember you that young and eager," Mrs. Hughes said with a smile.  
"I was never that young," Thomas stated flatly. "And that boy is pushy, not eager.  
"Hmmm..." Carson intoned, eyebrows raised. But there was the tiniest bit of humorous warmth in his eyes.   
Barrow couldn't believe it would stay, but for now he's won the victory.   
"Best step," Thomas said quietly, going to direct the careful ballet.

 

Mr. Carson ventured once more below stairs to check on the kitchen.  
"Are you waiting on that food until they come search?" he heard Mrs. Patmore blister someone. And there came the sound of china loading onto silver.

Carson smiled. They were working at full strength like the old days.   
And upstairs would be the proper style and show.   
Under his breath, the old man hummed with pleasure  
\---

Finally the last guest had left and the family could go up.

"Golly, what a night," Lord Grantham said to his wife collapsing on the bed next to her. "I'm so tired, they might have to send a tray of breakfast up to ME tomorrow morning."

Cora laughed. "This morning, you mean, and Barrow would have them do it in a heartbeat if he thought you needed it. We still have to take care of your health, you know. Out there flirting with the ladies like some cinema casanova."

Robert grinned. "You fell for me, once upon a time."  
"And I've fallen for you every time since," she smiled back. "Well, except when you're being obstinate."  
"Never, my darling wife" he said moving close. "I'd give you whatever you want, just for the price of a kiss." (And that he did.)

\---  
Last to go up, Henry pulled Mary into a darkened corner of the stairs and dropped a kiss upon her lips before she could protest.   
"How very forward of you, Mr. Talbot," she smiled up at him. 

And he forgot any worry that he might have harbored and took shelter in that remembered smile. (This was where they started. This was who they used to be.)  
"Faint heart never won fair maid," he rasped back, becoming slightly undone by the nearness of her, the smell of perfume and wine and heat.

"Oh, I'm to be won am I? Do go on," and Mary kissed him back and the world was right again, at least for a while.  
Now it was only to negotiate the undressing of his prize.

 

It had been a successful night.


	59. Chapter 59

-  
-  
-

The creak of the news boy's bicycle coming up the drive woke Lady Mary early, just as it had her entire life.  
Though still tired from the night before, she rose and looked out the window.  
It was going to be a blue sky day.  
Behind her Henry slept on unawares, sprawled rather inelegantly across the bed.  
Mary chuckled slightly looking at him. Best to dress herself and go downstairs for breakfast, she thought with a smirk.

 

Around her, the great house was quiet. Apparently, like Henry, most of the family was sleeping late.  
But Lady Mary was pleased to see that Tom was already in the dining room.  
Like her, he was up and around ready to work.

"So...was it worth it?" Mary prompted, placing a bit of toast on her plate. and coming to sit down.

 

Branson put down the papers he'd been scanning and considered the question for a minute.  
"Yes, it was." He took a sip of his coffee before continuing.  
"We know we've talked to several investors for the motor business with Henry, and I've even a couple who seem taken with how I'm handling repairs and sales."  
"I know it irks you to part with money these days, but if we have enough solid people beside us, it would be hard for Morris's plans to fail." And with that Tom grinned broadly. 

 

Mary raised an eyebrow and gave him a look. "So you're like Henry, telling me not to worry?"  
"Heavens, no!," Branson replied. "I say we all should keep worrying, but keep working, too. If we all do that, we'll see the pitfalls and get round them. Besides, you'll worry anyway. There's no bossing you." 

(He sometimes did anyway.)

 

"You'd best not try," she agreed with a smile. (She didn't much mind.)  
The two relaxed for a few moments drinking their coffee in peace.  
"It's good to have a friend in my corner who understands these things," Mary thought warmly. 

\---

Downstairs, of course, there were remaining jobs to be done.  
The week after such an event still saw massive amounts of polishing and storage, invoices and payments.  
Without more than a few hours rest, the staff picked up their traces and fell into work.  
Mr. Barrow and Andrew, trained as they were, did the tasks almost as reflex,  
but the summer staff weren't as adept and some of their mistakes took twice as long to fix as the original job.

 

And they still had additional family guests in their care.  
While Lady Rose had brought along her nanny, she'd still added to the nursery by two. (Plus the care of a Lady with child was always a challenge.)  
And the additional adults, though thinking themselves quite independent, took more effort than they'd imagine. (Poor old things.)

So below stairs was still working at full speed, though without the frantic edge of before.

 

"I think I've tarried as long as I ought," Daniel began as he took a seat in the butler's office. "Mam and granny'll be needing me."  
Mr. Barrow was alone in the office, Carson now satisfied they'd accomplished the main mission.

"But I should go back with you," he objected, turning a moment from the paper strewn desk. "And I can break free in a few days."  
"A few days, a few weeks....I have a feeling the work doesn't stop here," the younger man said somberly. "And it's fine to have such a job. No one would expect you to take the risk." 

 

"Oh," Thomas said, a bit deflated. "I assumed..."  
The boy shifted in his seat, not sure what to say. "That the door's always open to you? It is, that. The old man can't keep it locked any more."  
(Damn him to hell, Danny silently cursed.)  
"But a job's a precious thing. They know that."

 

Now, ambition still ran through Thomas Barrow, and he'd cut his family out of his heart as thoroughly as he could, abandoned as he was by them.  
But the ties hadn't been severed for all that.  
They might now be strangers, but they were close in his memories--sister and mother.  
And his own face looked back at him from the boy sitting there. 

Thomas sighed.  
"No, that's not the way of it.  
"We'll have to see what I can do to speed things up. I can't just leave, with no one dying, but I might be able to finish faster than I'd planned," Thomas said finally, making the leap.  
He'd had an excuse to stay. He might should have taken it. Not gone and just written.  
But Thomas took the leap.

\---

Up top, the family had the next two days to begin to moving their separate ways.  
Lady Rose and Atticus went first--trailing kisses, tears, and children--on to the Sinderbys.  
The Hexhams next, with Marigold's protests loud for once. (What fun she'd had in the nursery wing. The little ones just like doll babies.)  
The house seemed emptier without them. Emptier and quieter both.

Next, Shrimpy and Rosamund decided to go back to their respective homes.  
Shrimpy was by nature sociable and enjoyed Robert more than any of his extended friends or relations.  
So the two men parted with expressions of good will and plans to meet up shortly if they could. 

 

Lady Rosamund, meanwhile, wasn't as warmly loved and wouldn't be as deeply missed.  
But she was family, and the Crawleys stuck together in such things.  
So Robert and Cora saw her off with many kind words and wishes, just as she would if they visited her.  
And Henry stayed back to give her a little gift he'd got, just a token, but he knew Lady Rosamund was like Mary and needed the attention of such things.

And once again Downton Abbey was peaceful enough for its occupants to focus entirely on regular life.

\---  
\---

Meantime, while all of this was happening Jimmy Kent was on the prowl.

Now it's true that York wasn't the village, by any means, and the distance between not an easy walk.  
But by 1929, the trip to York seemed shorter than it did before.  
And, of course, Jimmy Kent liked to shake his boots any way.  
So, Jimmy--already going back and forth on his days off--had picked up on the death of his best mate's father almost immediately.

 

And Jimmy, well remembering every bit of personal information shared by his rather taciturn friend, knew what a complicated thing this grieving was to be.  
The blond had managed a bit of time with Thomas, to offer condolences.  
And he'd met the nephew-- better stated he'd interrogated the nephew--for who knew what kind of lad this stranger was, blood or no.

 

Consequently, it was that sort of cynicism that drove Jimmy Kent to Miller's cottage that Wednesday morning.  
"One of us should go with him since he's going back to Manchester," he'd said with no preamble as soon as the taller man let him through the heavy oak door.  
"By all means, take a seat, Jimmy, have some tea, how's the weather," Joe said sarcastically. 

 

Kent huffed in exasperation.  
They had an odd sort of friendship, he and the gamekeeper, and he credited his skills in acting for the man not knowing how he truly felt. (Unaware Joe was the far superior 'actor' of the two.)  
"I've been up to the big house checking on things, and it looks like he's set on going back now that they've got things fairly sorted," he began in a more moderate voice, following Miller into the kitchen.  
Jimmy slouched in one of the straight backed chairs as the other man put the kettle on. 

 

"He's been thinking on it," Miller replied briefly.  
"Yeah, well it's a bad idea, but he's been bound for it any way the first day that boy showed up," Jimmy gritted out. "And someone needs to go with him now that it's set."

"Just why do you think Thomas so weak?" Joe asked, though he'd held the man crying in his arms.  
(Thomas was breakable, no doubt. He'd proven that a few years back. But he was also resilient, and he had reasons to survive now, not like then.)  
"He's said he wants his privacy for this."

 

"What he says and what he needs might be two different things," Jimmy replied somewhat angrily, tilting his head to study on the other man.  
Given, Miller wasn't heartless if he'd had some sort of talk with Thomas about this.  
But sometimes it was better to not ask, just to do something and deal with the lack of permission later.  
"Either you go or I do, but he needs someone with him."

 

Joe blinked, startled at the challenge in the other man's voice.  
Miller didn't know if he even could go-- it wasn't like they'd see any rationale up at the house.  
And he mainly believed that he shouldn't, given Thomas's explicit comments on the matter.  
But he didn't like the idea of Jimmy going either.

Still, Kent had been nothing more or less than a friend--to them both, actually.  
And he could be right on this.  
That's what gave him pause--Jimmy Kent could be right.

Reluctantly, Miller put the tea and biscuits down and settled himself across the table, ready to talk things out.


	60. Chapter 60

-  
-  
-  
"I'd forgotten how it was," Thomas murmured quietly to Jimmy as they followed Daniel down a side street in Manchester.  
In his state, it had taken him a while to register the change.  
No grand house, this.  
And also, no shop.  
"Danny. Why aren't we going the alley by Palmer's? The shop's over there, and we lived above." Thomas called out in a louder tone. 

 

There was something wrong about the entire route, taking them to a part of town that Thomas barely remembered. 

 

"The old man lost the building after the war," Danny said simply, as though stating known fact. "He was doing business right to the end, though, did it on the kitchen table as had to."  
The boy might not have loved the bastard, but he'd give him his due.  
"Kept the rent coming in and bread on the table."

 

At this bit of information, Jimmy was stunned.  
Of the many things he'd asked the boy, he'd not thought of that.  
The clock shop had been the one solid point in Thomas's life narrative.

"And your mum and grandmum, do they work, too?" Kent asked as conversationally as he could, given his surprise.  
"Sewing, laundry, such as that," Jimmy caught the tail end as the boy replied. "I'll try to get something now that He's gone, of course. I can earn."  
And here his voice turned pugnacious, as though daring them to doubt his abilities.  
Their family took care of themselves.

 

The two men had dropped their things at a place near the train, getting a small room to spare any inconvenience.  
Now both men knew that such was a necessity.  
The Barrows, apparently, had "slid" in the years since the war.  
Amazing the stubbornness of the old man not letting his wife write for help from their son.  
(Or had she never admitted to him that she knew Thomas's whereabouts?)

 

We are a stiff necked people, Thomas admitted to himself. Foolish and proud and stubborn.  
But at least they could now be free from the abuse, he thought.  
(He'd never be free, he knew.)

\---

Unlike some sections of town, the neighborhood Danny led them to had not slid totally below poverty, but still close enough.  
Rents were being paid, some work got, yet times were obviously hard.  
Thomas could see expressions of bitterness on the men as they walked down the street in passing.  
And women coming out for the milk had tattered robes around sloping shoulders.  
He heard no laughter and saw no smiles, even on the children.

 

Not exactly given to hope by nature, Thomas worried about his mother and sister's conditions.  
And that worry, on top of all the other worries, tied his stomach in knots.  
As a matter of reflex when unsure of himself, Barrow schooled his features into a mask.  
What could he do? 

 

When they at last approached the door, the thing that soothed his mind and belly was a geranium in the window.  
Just a small flower, saved over year after year, but Thomas remembered his mother having that same pot and flower--or one much like it--all the time he was a boy.  
His heart fluttered once in his chest before calming. Surely this was better than not knowing.  
And taking a deep breath, he followed Danny into the house.

\---

The two women had been sitting, waiting for them, and you could see they'd scrubbed every inch of the rooms and themselves in preparation.  
Though coal soot leached into the cracks and the floor slanted somewhat alarmingly, it was as tidy as could be made.

Margaret Barrow had risen to watch at the window and stepped to the door as though to answer.  
Danny, of course, just entered, but she wanted to be there both as a welcome and as a buffer between her mother and the men.

 

Thomas.  
Margaret's breath came up short at the sight of him.  
Not her porcelain doll baby brother, but a broad shouldered man, this.  
They stood staring a moment, each marveling at the other. 

 

"Mags," he said shyly and reached out a hand.  
"Oh, Tommy, how we've longed for you," she answered finally, squeezing his fingers. And a few tears overflowed, but silently, as though she had that much control at least.  
"Come in. Come in all."  
And she made no mention of the unexpected sight of a second man, just an attempt at hospitality where there was no abundance behind it.

\---

In front of them, the old woman stood, pulling a wrap closer round her in spite of the heat.  
And Jimmy could see where both her children got their looks, for she had obviously once been beautiful.  
However, when times were hard, it was for the mother to 'go short' to feed the family, and obviously the elder Mrs. Barrow had seen hard times.  
Her once lovely face was skin and bones.

 

But her eyes were sparkling now.  
Blue-grey eyes, just like Thomas's, lit with love and fire.  
"My boy," she said, opening her arms to him and wrapping him in a fierce grip.  
And the two stood there embracing for several minutes, while the rest looked smiling on.

Then finally, "I've stayed alive for this day."  


 

\---

It was Danny who eventually broke the spell.  
"You'll not believe the basket of things Mrs. Parker sent along with us," the always-hungry boy said. "She said it was for the trip, but it's a week's groceries or more."  
"And the fine house you sent me. Even if he just works there, we've a relative who's tantamount to a king."

The women laughed and looked at their guests admiringly.  
"And you are?" the elder woman said, looking at Jimmy.  
"Jimmy Kent, ma'm, at you service," he answered with a smile and a wink.  
He nodded companionably to Margaret as he continued.  
"Mr. Barrow's my friend, used to be my boss, too. I thought I'd pay condolences to you all on your loss."

Mrs. Barrow inclined her head briefly. "Thank you, Mr. Kent," was all she said, keeping further thoughts to herself. "Come, you both, take a seat."

 

The room was cramped, but they managed. The chairs were all simple straight backed things, for few people in this home sat when they could be out working.  
It was a bit stuffy on this summer day. (And probably drafty on a winter's.)  
But they'd sewn curtains for the windows and made a rug of rags.  
The lamp was probably a leftover from grander days, and Margaret went to bring tea in mugs that were cheap but uncracked.

Not bad, then, but not how either man remembered his childhood.  
The years had softened the memories of what is was like to be working poor.

\---

Though the Barrows were a line above poverty, Manchester definitely had its share of such by 1929.  
First had been the damage of the war, eroding the economy.  
Then had been the hit of the flood two years before, some of the damage still half repaired.  
And now there was the damage, quite simply, of human despair as people gave up in large areas around the city.  
Half the shops were closed or on the edge of closing--one good push would do it.

 

No one had the wherewithal to buy new clothes; they just wore the ones they'd owned to rags.  
The men had masked faces and fell into the habit of slouching, walking with hands in their pockets. (For the pockets were otherwise empty.)  
And everywhere was a sentiment of fatalism--some people were just unlucky, they accepted. It couldn't be expected to rise in this life, Labour victory or no.

 

It was far worse here in the city than in the countryside villages.  
Even though both had felt the effects of the slump, country people had better ways of getting their meals--growing it in bits of earth around their doorstep if nothing else.  
In the city such efforts wouldn't work, for it was all brick and soot.

Mainly it was bread and margarine for breakfast, bread and bacon for lunch, bread and jam for dinner...if lucky.  
No wonder, then, that Daniel's stories of the Abbey focused not on the paintings or tapestries he'd (briefly) glimpsed through the baize door, but rather on the enormous amounts of food running through Daisy's kitchen.

\---

They'd talked until the talking'd run down.  
Then, lifting her chin Margaret motioned her brother to follow her.  
"I suppose we should tell you," she began as she led Thomas back to the bedroom.

It was bare and held two beds with worn quilts.  
Seeing the old man's cane in the corner nearly made him undone. (Striking, always striking him about the back when he'd been 'bad.' But he was always called 'bad.')  
"Danny already told. And your note did," he said in a low, rough voice.

 

"It was pneumonia that did him in," she continued, needing to retell the story for herself as much as her brother.  
"You don't go to the hospital around here, of course, and he wouldn't hear of a doctor either.  
The doctor charges so dear and has a man who comes around to make sure you pay of a Friday.  
And they only give Assistance if the head of the family goes to the tribunal, so there was no chance of that."

 

"He died of pride, then," Thomas said with a smirk for such foolishness.  
"No," she said. "Pride was all that kept him alive. He died of pneumonia. And the damp. Nothing to be done for it."

She handed him an envelope, tattered on the edges, with writing clear across its face.  
The old man had written the only will he would have.  
"To Margaret goes the household furnishings if she can keep them and all my tools to Thomas so that if he wants he can be a clock maker like his dad."

 

"I know you've a far better place than here, but at least you know he thought of you at the end. I don't blame if you have to keep hating him, but know he thought of you at the end."  
And she left him alone in the room not knowing how else to help.

\---

Thomas and Jimmy left much later that day, promising to return the next.  
Neither said anything for the entire walk back to their room.  
There was much to say, of course, but also much to think on.

 

"So that's where some of the scars come from then," Jimmy thought.  
(It had always been hard to tell when something hurt Thomas, for he had so many scars already in place.)  
"And that's why he has such a time accepting a kindness, has had to train himself to return it without suspicion. They all acted like the worst was right around the bend."

 

What a truly awful creature his old man must have been, Jimmy sighed.  
He'd been sorry for himself, alone except for cousins. But how much worse to know you had a family whom you couldn't see or help.  
Punishing not just Thomas, but the women, too.

Thus Jimmy joined in the general cursing of the old man now (finally) dead.


	61. Chapter 61

-  
-  
-  
They'd only been there a few days, but it was already time to go back.  
Seeing the grim grip their lack of money had on the Barrow family made Thomas that much more eager to earn.  
Jimmy still didn't feel it in his bones, still had that feeling of lucky optimism on getting jobs as needed, but at least he had the corner of an understanding now.  
The younger man could at least begin to know what it must be like. 

 

So on that night before leaving, though he tried to get Thomas to go have a pint Jimmy understood when his friend didn't want to.  
Every pint cost coins that could be saved.  
Gloomy, but true.

 

With nothing else to do, the two sat on the steps outside the rooming house, talking quietly as the dusk drew in, watching the moths lazily circling and hitting at the lit windows.  
They talked of childhood memories, painting them rosier to make it feel better.  
Jimmy laughed as Thomas explained how his sister had once had to rescue him off the neighbor's roof. And he could picture the still beautiful woman as she must have been when a cheerful girl of eleven.

 

"Would it be better if they came to York?" Jimmy asked finally, knowing there wasn't enough work in the village to let them make a go.  
"I don't think so," Thomas said, rubbing his forehead and eyes. He'd been studying the angles of the situation since they'd got there.  
"They've both some work here, and Danny might manage it, too. Then there's friends in the church and neighbors. As long as they've got that, it's best they stay."  
"I'll just send what I can to make sure things don't get worse. And I can't ask for the entire lot to move to the Abbey. Not even Lord Grantham's that liberal...not these days."

 

The silence grew long, but it was a comfortable one.  
Not intentionally, certainly not wanting to, Thomas had revealed to his friend some of the darkness inside him. And, yet, here was Jimmy--still sitting by his side.  
Even in sad times, the two men got along.

 

So they sat there smoking, alone in the twilight, shoulder to shoulder leaning in.  
First Jimmy'd nudge and mooch a cigarette. Then Thomas would nudge and flick the lighter.  
Just the two of them smoking, sharing their worries without words being needed at all.

\---  
\---

 

Though the Crawley's problems were nothing in comparison, Lady Mary still considered each expense dire.  
She was not about to let the family show go to ruin.  
Her uncle's concern, backed up by Tom, had made her nervous for the future. So Mary studied all the angles of the situation, trying to keep things right.  
She had not only Georgie, but little Violet on which to worry. Sybbie, too, for that matter.

 

Another estate near them had folded, bringing the county down another peg.  
What was the Parliament thinking? Why didn't the King do something more useful to help the north?  
Lady Mary knew that Downton had certainly done its part, and she was satisfied they'd survive if work and wits counted for anything.  
But with Uncle Harold and Tom's voices in her head, she wondered if they'd survive in the manner to which they'd been accustomed to date.

So even now, Lady Mary worked and worried, but made it seem effortless...as was required of a Lady.

\---

Back in his cottage in the woodlands, Joe worried about Thomas though he knew he'd hear nothing until the man returned.  
And he was perturbed about the Abbey, too, having just lost the deer man and being told that the job wouldn't be replaced.  
It was now double (triple) duty for Miller, which was bad.  
Still, at least he had a job, and the job still had a paycheck attached. 

 

Miller walked the paths of the estate, keeping things cleared.  
He managed the birds, stocking them as needed and putting out feed, since Lord Grantham still liked to shoot. (No hunting parties these days, Joe thought sadly.)  
He studied the sun and the weather, the trees and the fields, and tried to find peace in the wind's whispering message. 

 

There were too many worries in the world. Too many ways for things to go suddenly wrong.  
If nothing else, the war had taught Miller that.  
Nothing could be controlled.  
You just had to prepare as best you could and roll with the currents.

The gamekeeper sighed.  
Joe missed having the comfort of Thomas around. (Around even when he wasn't directly beside him.)  
Odd that he'd never allowed himself to hope for such a thing.  
And now that he had it, he knew it was both a comfort and a weight.

\---

That night the train reached the village late, and Thomas Barrow walked home in the dark.  
The path was so familiar to him now that he could do it without faltering.  
Darkness under trees didn't slow his pace. 

Almost there, the moon came out from hiding behind the clouds.  
The Abbey stood in full before him, tall and elaborate and solid.  
And downstairs one tiny window was lit dimly. Downstairs, someone had left a light on knowing he'd come.  
Thomas sighed and was thankful that he had this place to work and call home.


	62. Chapter 62

-  
-  
Daisy and Andy were rushing against the dawn that last day in June.  
The week before had been hard enough, what with Mr. Barrow missing, but now Mrs. Patmore had gone and got sick--a fact that startled Daisy more than she cared to admit. 

Mrs. Patmore, in all her years, had never been ill. At least not take-to-bed ill.  
Even when she'd had an operation on her eyes, she came back ready to work.  
So when Beryl told the younger woman that she needed a day for a 'lie in,' it seemed a rather frightening thing. 

But both Mr. Mason (who swore he'd take care of it) and Andy (who said it would be all right) were encouraging them out the door.  
Daisy and Andy and two small bundles, with a cradle in the truck bed for the kitchen corner. 

 

Of course, Anna and Mr. Bates saw them before everything was quite set up.  
And Anna, looking like some Madonna in a glass window, came over to peek and to play.  
Little Johnny, now beyond the 'no' stage of toddlerhood, clung to her skirts grinning up at Daisy.  
(Mrs. Parker made biscuits. Mrs. Parker was wonderful.)

 

"Aren't you sending them to the nursery, then?" Anna asked, eyeing the cradle that Andy had wrestled inside.  
"Just thought I'd take care of them between jobs," Daisy said as offhandedly as possible.  
Her babies had never been offered the advantages of the nursery, and it still rankled her somewhat. On the other hand, her babies were supposed to be out at the farm, so it wasn't for her to complain.  
"I think Nanny would be fine with a day or so," Anna said, herself not wanting to press any arguments with baby number two on the way. 

 

"Fine with what?" John Bates asked as he came to retrieve their prince for transport upstairs.  
"Fine with Daisy having the babies there for a day or so with Mrs. Patmore ill," Anna answered.

"Well, we'll ask, won't we," Bates said easily, looking to Daisy. "If you want, that is."  
"Thanks ever so," she said softly. "It's right either way, but that would be so kind."  
Bates nodded and went up to ask the favor. 

\---

Thomas was just coming out of the children's area as Bates entered, and the two nodded to each other silently as they passed in the hall. 

None of the Crawley children had stirred yet, of course.  
It was still quite early, and the halls were dim and quiet.  
But Thomas had come on a mission to return something to Master George's room so that he'd see it first thing. 

 

When he'd come in last night from his travels, feeling every bit the melancholy warrior, Barrow had been heartened by two things.  
The first was the light left on for him by one of the staff, indicating that they knew he was coming, even though long into the night.  
The other was a small stuffed dog, leaning against the door of his locked office. 

It was the stuffed dog that Lady Mary called Georgie's 'good dream dog.'  
The boy was far too big to admit to having nightmares any more, of course, but for a time as a young child he'd been plagued with them.  
The dog then had been a nightly sleeping companion in his bed.  
These days it had been 'promoted' to a shelf, but still overlooking him. (For while Georgie might not admit it at his advanced age, he still needed it sometimes as a boost.)

 

Barrow had smiled when he'd found the dog by his door.  
Master George understood that he'd had to go see his mother, that his father had passed.  
(Though he didn't remember it happening to himself, Georgie had that scenario stamped in his brain.)  
The boy hadn't even made any bones about the matter, just saying he hoped it would feel better soon. Staring up at him with solemn blue eyes and a controlled expression.

But maybe Master George understood things better than Barrow gave him credit for.  
Thomas had, indeed, been having bad dreams. And while a 'good dream dog' wouldn't be much assistance to a full grown man, it touched him beyond measure that the lad had made the try.

 

Thus, Thomas had gone in and placed the creature back on Master George's table, so the boy would see it immediately and know he was back.  
Back and happy to see him.  
And just for good measure, he added an Aggie marble that he'd been particularly fond of as a boy, so much so that it stayed in his pocket for many a year. (Even when he ran away with little else.)  
George was the right age to like such a thing, Thomas thought.

Then the butler went downstairs to begin the work day.

\---

In the kitchen, Daisy already had the kettle on and was stirring about.  
There were cinnamon rolls to make fresh, and yeast breads to begin for luncheon-- what with rising taking so long.  
"I can't believe it's the end of June already," Andy said to Barrow as he entered. "It's like we were in some suspended place planning for that party, then we woke up and it was summer full on. Everything at the farm is just bursting."

"I'm sure Mason is glad to have you back more awake," Barrow offered as Daisy poured him a cuppa.  
"Hmm...both of us, back on regular hours will help. I never think of them as old, you know. Mr. Mason's so strong, but he has been doing more than he should, right enough."  
Andy finished the last of his, and went off to attend to a few things left over from the night before's chores. 

 

"And we're glad that you're back," Daisy offered, not delving into details. "It's been odd here without you, really truly it was. Didn't seem like Downton at all."  
Barrow raised an eyebrow and smirked.  
"Time was, people wanted me gone," he reminded her.  
"Time was, people were fools," she retorted. "Now out of my way so I can get on with my work."

"Yes, Mrs. Parker" was his only reply.

\---

Much later, when the upstairs folk were up and breakfast served, it was Lady Mary commenting on not wanting men gone.  
"I think this time when you go south, I should go, too," she ventured, startling both Tom and Henry.  
"Leave the estate to run itself?" Tom teased. 

"For a day or two. I think we all three should go. As long as we've commercialized on the Crawley reputation, why not play the noble family and put on a full show for those car people of yours?"  
Mary raised an eyebrow and stared at Henry. 

 

It would impress them, he admitted to himself. And it would be nice to be in on the same page with his wife for a while longer.  
The party had done that. Why couldn't they build on it?  
"I think it's a splendid idea," he said smiling at her.  
And Mary nodded. "Good. Let's set the plans."

 

\---  
Meanwhile, Miss Sybbie was reacting to the new babies like most children would a batch of kittens.  
"Look at the sweet things," the nine year old crooned, dropping kisses on the crown of each fuzzy head. "Can we keep them?"  
Nanny chuckled a bit, since she was quite busy with the two toddlers.  
"That's up to their mother," she said. "And your granny, too, I suppose."

"It's just that it was fun when Cousin Rose's baby was here. I do like the lessons we do with Mr. Malcolm, but babies are wonderful, too."  
Yes, Nanny nodded, they were. So she didn't quite quash the idea. "We'll see. But for today, at least, we'll have as much fun as we can."

 

And Master George had gone downstairs to find his Barrow.  
"I brought you a book," the boy began with a serious tone, as he entered the office.  
He'd brought one for himself, too, to read in his spot by the shelves. (By now, he'd turned it into a fort that any eight year old boy would envy.)  
"Thank you, Master George," Barrow returned gravely. (He wanted to reach out and tuck a stray lock of hair behind the boy's ear, but kept from it. His boy was growing up, after all.)

 

"I'm glad to see you back, Barrow." Georgie said, looking up into his tall friend's eyes.  
"And I'm glad to be seen," the butler joked. "I missed our time, Master George."  
The child nodded, smiling slightly. Then he handed over the book and took his own to his spot, bumping ever so gently and intentionally against Barrow's arm on the way past.  
The world was on an even keel again.


	63. Chapter 63

-  
-  
-  
July and August were mild that year and local crops looked to be coming in heavy.  
The county folks released a breath they weren't aware of holding, and gave in to their native optimism.  
Better times were just around the bend. 

 

The theatre business, however, was changing.  
Talkies had come, and Jimmy became more wary of needing to think toward the future, for reasons of self preservation if nothing else.  
True, they'd just put in the Fitton & Haley, so organists looked to be staying.  
But better safe than sorry: When the projectionist started looking around to move up, so did Jimmy.  
Running the machines wasn't easy, but he managed...somewhat. 

 

Finally, though, he asked Thomas for help.  
And of course his friend came, practicing the younger man in his tasks just as he had when 'James' was a footman.  
Just looking at the machines with Thomas for a bit lent Jimmy more information than the former projectionist had in a day's lectures.  
Further, Thomas brought his old man's clock tools--little fiddly things and larger hook looking things--which he left in case the projectors broke. 

 

At the mention of this possibility, Jimmy looked terrified. (Bad enough to run the things!)  
"Don't worry. I think I could fix the big one, but I don't think we should take it apart and play with it today."  
And Thomas gave one of his rare laughs at his friend's expression.  
"They have men who come in, just like they do with clocks. But if you fix it first, it's money in your employer's purse. Makes you more valuable, saving him time and repair.  
"So if it does break, call me. And if I can, I'll come and we'll work on it. Just like I taught you with clocks."

 

"I never had your skill," blurted Jimmy. "But I enjoyed it."  
"You have good hands, Jimmy," Thomas said. "Skilled. Anyone who can play piano like you do can train yourself to fix anything, even something delicate. And these monsters aren't delicate." He sneered. "Not like a living clock."

 

\---

On return from his half day, Thomas handed Mrs. Moseley a note.  
It was official looking, on letterhead from a large library nearby.  
"What is it?" asked Phyllis, looking at Thomas in puzzlement.  
"Well read it," he said, pretending his most mocking sneer.

His friend (sister) looked down and skimmed the page quickly enough, eyes beginning to glint, lips beginning to smile.  
"This is wonderful," she said softly, looking up at him again. "But how?"

 

Mr. Barrow quirked an eyebrow at her.  
"I should let you think I have connections in temples of learning, put Moseley in his place. But I'll tell you flat out it was Jimmy." Thomas smiled. "He somehow met the man who runs the archive there and got him to talking...and probably drinking."  
Phyllis smiled broader.  
Jimmy Kent had become more real to her lately than when they'd first met. He'd not seemed much use to anyone but himself when she'd passed him back then.  
But these days, he was more of a man she could respect. (And laugh at, it's true, but that's how friendships are.)

 

"So, you know Jimmy. Always looking for advantages. The only thing he could think was that this man had the key to the door of a place you might like.  
"You have in your hands an invitation, a letter of introduction, however you want to style it."  
"Open season on seeing the lot."  
Thomas began to flush slightly, seeing Phyllis so pleased by the gesture.   
He still felt awkward being caught in a kindness.

"Moseley, too, if you must. He'd want to putter around in their storage rooms, I'm sure."  
And Mr. Barrow nodded and left, quite fearing a hug.

\---

 

His time with Joe was a bit more unsettling.  
Having used his half day in York, they met briefly to walk around the periphery of the gardens.  
In such an open, close in place, they could not, of course, touch.

But Miller felt the need to share some of his concerns and wanted Thomas to hear them now just in case.  
"I don't think it will happen, but I wanted you to know something," he began. "Lady Mary has been looking the estate over top to bottom. Again.  
"And I'm pretty sure my job is safe. They have to have someone who knows the trails to keep out poachers if nothing else, but she's decided to shorten the flocks somewhat. Told her father that they'd have to limit shooting to need, not recreation these days."

 

Barrow stopped, alarmed.  
Jimmy had gone away for years, being fired.  
Was that what Joe was suggesting?

 

"You've got that look, Thomas. Now don't turn it around and overthink. I said that I'm sure they'll have to keep someone and that someone is me. Old Pip feels the same in the gardens.  
"I wanted to tell you in case you heard about cuts, didn't want you to assume I'd be in danger. And even if you hear I've been cut before we can talk, I wanted you to know something for sure."

Here Joe Miller walked the few feet toward Thomas, desperately wanting to grab hold but realizing he couldn't out in the open like this.  
"Be sure that I'm not leaving unless you do. I'm not cutting out unless you tell me to."

 

When Barrow's face didn't lose its worry, Joe tried a joking tone. "I've every hidey hole in the entire estate mapped out in my head. They may stop paying me, but they can't get rid of me unless I say so."  
But Thomas just looked askance.  
Joe smiled at him, though his worries weren't a topic for smiling.  
"You know me to be an ingenious man, Thomas Barrow. Do you doubt my ability or are you doubting my word?"

"Neither," Thomas said finally.  
"So you've got me until you don't want me any more. That's what I wanted to make clear. They can fire me, though I DON'T think the will. Not. At. All. But worse to worst, I'm around, neh?"  
And the two men began to walk slowly again, together around the paths.


	64. Chapter 64

(Note: One last plot twist before the end of 1929 and a character death with a mention of suicide.)  
-  
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Summer passed into late summer, moving quickly by on the pace of labor and laughter.  
Letters from home both worried Thomas and made him smile as they came in the post.  
Mr. Moseley did come up to share dinner with them, which added a bit of comedy to the proceedings. (When would the man learn to read a room?)  
Seven months gone, Anna's thickening belly became the subject of unspoken speculation by those who'd had to deal with a birth first hand. No one wished, even two months out, to come up short.

And the men still gathered to play cards every week or two.  
(Even Thomas, though he was careful with his money. But he came anyway, since he'd learned to thrive on the companionship there.)

 

In sum, nothing much changed, though everything was different.  
"Next year if your nephew comes, maybe he could bring the family. Have them bunk up in the cottage?" Joe suggested one night, apropos of nothing. ('Next year,' Thomas thought. How odd to make long term plans. How odd to make family plans. Yet how oddly right.)

And the people of Downton tried their best to keep hope alive within their cocoon.

\---

Early September even brought glad tidings, though some of them already suspected (or knew) that they would come.  
The Marchioness and Marquis of Hexham had an heir...a very tiny boy, about whom no one knew if he was early or late, but they were very glad he'd come.

When the telephone call came and Lord Grantham took it, the rest of the family were certain something was at hand before he even spoke.  
His face spoke:  
The older man was beaming, so happy a few tears gathered at the edges of his twinkling eyes.  
"Edith?" Lady Grantham asked. 

 

Mary rolled her eyes. "What's she done now? Won a prize of some sort for that book of hers? It's a rather vulgar story, you know."  
Henry laughed. "I suspect it's not the book, Mary."

"It's a boy, and they've named him Robert," Lord Grantham managed to answer his wife, but loudly enough for them all the hear the news.  
"What?" Lady Mary said, managing to sit up even straighter in her seat, though she already had excellent posture.  
"What?" She looked at her husband and Tom sitting across from her.

 

Tom looked as surprised as she was, but grinned back as he shrugged.  
Henry, meanwhile, looked quite pleased with himself.  
"You did say she'd got as fat as a cow at the party in June?" He reminded her waggishly.  
"Well, she wasn't nearly as big as she should have been, but she was big enough to remind me of someone else in a similar circumstance...."

"I was never fat," objected Mary.  
Her mouth turned down. "Even with the children, I was never fat."

 

"And neither was Edith," said Tom, smoothing over the bump.  
"I would never have guessed it. Why I got bigger from bar food in Boston."

"She told us, but didn't want it announced for fear of what happened the last time," explained Lady Grantham, as she sat smiling beside her husband.  
"And, obviously, we thought you'd all know when you saw her. Isobel guessed immediately, though we swore her to secrecy."

"That woman has an unhealthy interest in obstetrics," Lord Grantham observed wryly.

 

"Oddly, though, no one thought anything of a matron gaining weight." Here Cora smoothed down her dress and smiled, for she had never gained more than a few pounds difference even with all three of her daughters.

"Good news for us all. Edith's curse is lifted?" Tom said, going to shake Robert's hand.  
"And you knew this?" Mary asked Henry.  
"I suspected this," Henry emphasized. (And thought, touche my darling. I can keep Edith's secrets from you.)

 

"Champagne. This calls for champagne," Lord Grantham said. "Barrow?"  
"Yes, my lord," the butler answered, inclining his head and exiting with the news for downstairs.  
"Golly. Better times," Grantham exclaimed with pride.

\----

 

The next announcement brought a decidedly more mixed response.  
Later in September, having come back from the victory tour to Brancaster, the family received word that Larry Grey had died.  
Now no one was much sorry about his passing, for the man had behaved very poorly and insulted the family in its own home. But they were sorry for Dickie.

 

Even though Lord Merton had fallen out with his son, he'd never stopped loving him or cut him off.  
He'd loved him without liking him much, and had handed over the main estate early to keep peace between them.  
Of course this became the topic of immediate interest at the Downton household. 

 

"Will the estate come back to Isobel and Dickie or will it go to that horrid wife?" Lady Mary asked her mother after hearing developments.  
"I'm not sure. Isobel didn't talk of the estate at all, seemed to write it off as lost, so maybe the lack of information answers the question best," Cora started.  
"And Tim Grey's really not much better, never wavered or showed compassion for his father's choice. Why, he barely visited Dickie when they thought him dying, you know."

The two women nodded to one another.  
Isobel would forgive many things, but rude treatment of her husband was not one of them.

"I'm sure the whole story will out soon enough," Mary said, sipping her tea.

 

\---

And the whole story was far more of a spectacle than they'd either imagined at first.  
As the week continued, they found the death of Larry Grey actually involved the Crawley family, though indirectly and in a manner entirely not their fault.  
The Honourable Laurence Grey was a banker in London, and he kept the job even after his father threw him their family estate. He didn't yet have the title 'Lord Merton,' nor the rest of the holdings, so while he had grandeur enough to satisfy Amelia, he still had a life to lead until his father's death. 

 

The banking establishment at which he worked dealt with many great men, which was why Larry didn't find it demeaning to get his paws dirty with the every day work.  
It also had fellow bankers who weren't such grand men, but wanted to climb. Among that club was a man named Rupert Bigsby.  
Rupert had siddled up to Larry more than once before Grey allowed him to claim any sort of friendship. But the man was useful, and so he fell in to letting him have a casual drink after hours or a chat in the office during the day.  
They both benefited from the association. 

 

Bigsby was the banker and purchaser for Harold Levinson, whom Larry Grey both looked down on and secretly admired.  
Larry had an aversion to the Crawleys, and he'd found out Lady Cora's family held those of the semitic faith--in his pretentious mind another strike.  
But Harold Levinson had a reputation for practically printing money in his basement, so when Rupert came in with news of his latest dealings, Larry took note.  
Of particular interest to him was that Levinson already owned holdings in US Steel. Why Larry had just heard himself of the company even being formed. 

 

Grey had a close connection with Clarence Hatry, another man whom he'd considered beneath him until he'd struck it big this decade.  
Hatry was a director of over a dozen corporations, and while his Commercial Corporation of London had failed rather spectacularly, Hatry had come out richer for it.  
It was a trick Larry Grey had been fascinated to learn. 

 

And Hatry was working on merging steel and iron into the 40 million strong United Steel Company, Larry knew.  
If Harold Levinson had bought in so early, it must be even stronger than Clarence had suggested.  
Larry Grey decided to go 'all in.'

 

Unfortunately, Clarence Hatry was a man living on the edge and this time went over.  
Just as the deal for United Steel Companies was to happen, he was caught borrowing money on worthless paper.  
Like many around him at the time, Hatry had taken out money which wasn't his to place his investments. And this time, even worse, he'd taken out money that didn't even exist.  
The SEC closed in.

 

Unlike Hatry, who was staring at jail with a hard eye, the Honourable Larry Grey couldn't face the scandal.  
Going back north to his childhood home, mounting the stairs to his childhood room, he found his chest growing heavy with the enormity of it.  
He had to make sure his role wasn't revealed, that he'd just be marked down for a bad investment not the shame of what was robbery.

 

Larry could hear Amelia directing the butler on some small matter, shrill voice over low rumble.  
No, if it was revealed he'd never have a moment's peace. Better this.  
So Larry went to his childhood room, carrying one of his father's guns, and took his own life.


	65. Chapter 65

(Note: I think JF will start the movie with the crash, so I'm going to wrap this up in the next chapter or so. I have the people where they were 'supposed' to be at the end of s6....took me a lot longer than fifteen minutes to get through Thomas's depression, settled happily in a job, with Carson letting go, and everyone else coupled up and supportive....sorry if the meandering was about to drive you mad.)

 

-  
-  
-  
Tom Branson didn't mention the suicide, of course.  
When one of his workmen had told him how matters really stood in the Grey household, Tom debated saying anything at all.  
But Branson had a bit of a soft spot for Isobel Crawley. More than once she'd pulled him in, saving him from feeling odd man out in the old days.  
Isobel deserved the family's full support. And Tom knew they'd give it, if they were ever allowed to know the true extent of the need. 

"I heard that a bit more on Larry Grey today," Branson started, pausing to take a portion off the proffered tray.  
The rest of the family, arranged as usual around the dining table, turned to him. 

 

"Isobel said the funeral was private or we'd have been there," Cora started. "I feel so bad for her and Dickie, no matter how everyone felt about Larry."

"Yes, well, it may be more complicated than Isobel would have told," Branson replied.  
"I know how her generation--well, you all, really--hesitate to discuss money, but it seems Larry lost the estate in a bad investment."

 

"The estate wasn't entailed to the title then?" Mary asked Tom, then nodded at her mother. They'd expected that might be the case, but they'd assumed it was lost to the shrewish Amelia, not some bank.

"No, Lord Merton signed over the big house and the immediate holdings around it to Larry when he thought he was dying. And Larry mortgaged those holdings to the hilt."  
Tom stopped to take a bite of his meal, though he for once didn't really taste the food. It was a rare thing to feel sorry for a pompous arse like Larry Grey. Still, Tom was a compassionate sort and even such as Larry deserved a moment of his silence. 

"But they've surely something left?" Lady Mary ventured.

 

"Well, they've got Crawley House to live in, the Merton timber and acreage, something further north." Tom stopped any attempt at eating.  
"The fellow who told me has an uncle in service at the big house. He said it'd been chaos since...the death."  
Branson very studiously avoided looking toward Mr. Barrow as well as the ladies.  
Suicide was still not a topic he felt comfortable with in any shape or form.

"It'll come out in the newspapers tomorrow, probably. Something to do with a venture called United Steel Companies."

 

"Ah, bad investments hit a fellow hard," sympathized Lord Grantham. "Probably his heart gave out. Mine certainly almost did on a few occasions."

Lady Mary, sitting down table, swallowed several times before she could speak.  
"United Steel?" she began, again losing her voice.  
They all looked to her, concerned.  
"United Steel is something Uncle Harold's in, isn't it?" Mary tried again, tried to keep her poise, though her voice broke. "And we've a bit, too?"

 

For just a moment, there was dead silence.  
But into it came Cora's calm, pleasant tones.  
"Why, no darling, you're mishearing. Our family has US Steel, JP Morgan's business. My father was awfully fond of the Morgans, you know. Such a good head for business. I don't know this other United Steel, but it sounds like they were trying to trade off his good name."

 

And Cora looked through wide baby blue eyes at her daughter....and smiled complacently.  
Crawleys, she thought.  
Sometimes they really don't pay much attention to stock investments in this household.

Over a slight chuckle from Robert, everyone else began to breathe again.  
"We'll check to see if there's any connection tomorrow, but I talked to your uncle this morning," the older man said.  
"He was fit to be tied with one of his employees quitting, but otherwise perfectly....normal." Robert took a sip. "For him, at least."

 

\---  
The London Stock Exchange crashed September 20, 1929.  
One of the triggers was a top British investor and his cronies being arrested on fraud and forgery charges. (Hatry)  
And a wave of concern went through from London all the way to New York. 

 

"Hold steady," Harold Levinson advised his family. "We've diversified what we have and are as strong in our holdings as we can be." (Plus he'd put aside enough 'portable property' in the walls of his London house to hold out for a while, too. Harold knew his Dickens.)  
"We'll all make it through if we just hold steady," Harold said.

A telegram came for him October 24, special delivery, from his friends back home.

 

And the crashing of the American exchange made Levinson blanche a bit, though he'd predicted it.  
Eleven percent in one day, he'd heard. Surely that was an exaggeration?  
How could things fold that quickly? Even Harold was amazed.  
He walked back to his own home that evening in a somber mood and called his sister at Downton knowing the headlines would be bad tomorrow. 

Then Harold, never a praying man, sent up a prayer that they'd make it through this intact.

\----

At Downton, the period between the end of September and the end of October had the entire downstairs in a permanent state of jitters.  
And when the newsboy was late on October 25, it was a cause for alarm. 

"The last time we had a bulletin delay the papers, the Titanic sank," Mr. Barrow commented to Andy, explaining why Mrs. Hughes and Daisy had especially dire looks.  
Mr. Levinson's warning that there was a strong dip in the New York markets in no way conveyed what the headlines looked like that morning or for the next few weeks.

 

Even Lord Grantham's refrain about good times returning 'round the bend was silenced as the older man read stories of bank closings and business crashes.  
Investors jumping off buildings were told in bold face--something that even a month ago would have thought an unthinkable topic for public consumption.  
("Do they not know ladies can get at these papers?" Robert had railed to Tom.)

 

Lady Grantham, once again, proved the strength in adversity.  
Though raised in the lap of luxury, she really didn't let the trappings define her.  
Going downstairs to the kitchen to look over the menus with Mrs. Parker this week, Cora noted that there might be some trimming.  
Did the cook think that was possible?

"We've quite a bit of trimming before you're eating ordinary even," Daisy replied, eyes wide.  
"Well," said Lady Grantham. "Let's not sink that low. We still have standards. But let's see what we can do to make for some concessions long term."

 

Lord Grantham had been espousing leaner staffing for years now, so his conversation with Mr. Barrow was not unusual.  
They'd trimmed by attrition before.  
Perhaps they could trim a bit more if they tried?  
Mr. Barrow promised his lordship he'd look into the matter, though the butler privately remembered his own feelings when "trimmed."

"It's just for a short while, Barrow," Lord Grantham said with as much cheer as he could muster. "Good times will return, you know."  
But even downstairs, his lordship's refrain had sadly worn thin.

 

\---

"What have I done, John?" Anna whispered alone in their rooms that night.  
"What kind of world will this baby face?"

And the two worried about the doctor bills, the expenses of babies, the house that they'd barely started to let out.

"We've a roof over our heads and good friends to help us. And more importantly, we've each other, my lovely bride.  
"Why in the story of what we've been through, this is nothing. Just a blip.  
"It's the baby making you react so." And he tenderly cradled her in his arms, smoothing her hair like a child herself until Anna was calm.  
"We'll be fine. We'll survive. We'll be fine."

 

That same comment was being said in bedrooms all over Yorkshire.  
"We're strong. We'll survive."  
And for most of them, it was true.

 

Though they'd now face the Devil's Decade before they came out changed on the other side.


	66. Chapter 66

(THANK YOU to everyone reading. Your patience and kindness are much appreciated!!)  
-  
-  
-

 

Epilogue  
\---

"It's not a travesty to cancel the holiday tenant's gathering," Lady Mary told her father for (at least) the tenth time.  
They were decorating the tree with the children and trying to make merry. 

"Do try to cheer up, papa."

 

The financial news that had at first stunned them had become more common place with the passage of time. And when no one collapsed within their immediate family, a sense of regretful normalcy came over the entire awkward enterprise.  
They'd need to tighten their belts? So be it then.  
The Crawley family certainly wasn't to be thought of as poor.  
Why, they'd spent these last few years working and were better prepared than most to weather the shock.

 

However, there needed to be some minor changes behind the scenes, even if the main 'show' above stairs was to go on. 

Without consultation, Lady Grantham talked with Mrs. Hughes and had all the unused rooms draped and closed as they would have been in times past when the family went to London.  
No one was going to use them for weeks, so there was no need to keep up the work of cleaning or full heat.  
Which meant, of course, that Mrs. Hughes could let half of the village girls go who'd been taken on as maids.

It was only temporary, Cora explained to her husband when he (at last) noticed.

 

("If things got worse, they could probably pull in the items to one wing and totally close off the rest," Mrs. Hughes told them downstairs, worrying ahead.  
"Put down some of the less expensive pieces to fill in if more went to auction." )

But no extreme measures yet.

\---

And while doing estate business, Lady Mary told Mr. Pipwick that she considered so many gardeners a bit of a luxury in such times.  
Could he and Mr. Samuelson take care of the near gardens by themselves like Mr. Miller was watching the preserve?

Now while Old Pip was grateful to know that he and Sam were not to be cut, he was a canny enough old dog to bargain.  
"What if we have my lads move to the stables, your ladyship? The head groom's the only one there these days and the bunk room is empty.  
"I could offer them room and food if they'd like to stay until they find a new job?"

 

(Pipwick knew from talk that new jobs were like hens teeth, so in protecting his back from work he was also protecting the lads from starvation with this plan.  
And Lady Mary had set the example with the Moseleys before.) 

 

"Very well then, Mr. Pipwick," Mary said after considering briefly. It wasn't what she'd thought of, but a good deal on both sides.  
Though such a thing as off-book labor was dodgy, but if they were 'officially' fired...  
"We don't have as many horses as times past, but we will still keep a few. So you're right to know that the bunkhouse is open and to be kept heated. Make the offer if they want it."  
  
"It's not like we're closing shop, after all."

\---

Mr. Barrow had been unable to save the hall boys from the axe, but it was them or Andy.  
And he was willing to fight for his friend.  
(Surely in a big house like this things wouldn't get that much worse.)

Then, again, the Parkers had the advantage of Daisy being indispensable, and Andy could work full time at the farm if needs must.  
Plus, the shifting of people looking for work had made inns and roadhouses thrive, though they couldn't be as particular of the sort of visitors as times past.  
Nor offer them the huge fried breakfasts of which Annie Philpotts was so proud.  
Still, Barrow knew the Parkers and Masons seemed a crafty lot...just as he was. 

\---

'Crafty' was a word that also applied to Tom Branson.  
If it had ever been suggested early on that the Crawleys might owe their survival to an Irish businessman and a mechanic son-in-law, everyone would have scoffed. 

But the car business was holding steady for them, or at least not showing the freefall of other businesses...which made it a comparative success.  
Henry was having to stay to the south more, since southern England seemed to be hit less by the new troubles. But at least he was doing well.  
And Tom was holding the fort, besides also being the person around whom the other businessmen and workers flocked.  
Together they'd come through, he kept telling the men.

\---

So by the holidays they had crafted a new sort of everyday normal, allowing themselves a nice tree and presents.

  


Lord Grantham looked around at the great hall, seemingly unchanged through the decades of his life.  
There was a smell of pine and candles, excited comments piping from young voices, tinsel shining bright.  
Surely such a time deserved happiness, a "happily ever after" like one of the children's books.

But Robert knew the mansion's history--both joy and sorrow through the centuries.  
It was his generation's lot to be left with.... 'happily enough.'

They had family who loved them and work that gave their lives purpose.  
And though it wasn't a fairy tale ending... for 1929, he knew they had no right to complain.


End file.
